A Fatal Reunion
by Laughing Librarian
Summary: A woman from John Gage's past comes back to Carson with a new recipe for love. (Formerly titled: "Moving Day". I have rewritten large portions of it, but have kept my OC, Carla Culver.) Rated T for a reason-some parts are not suitable for the young 'uns.
1. Chapter 1

**A Fatal Reunion, Chapter One.**

**Two Years Prior...**

Johnny sat against a sand-dusted boulder and pulled Carla closer to him. He shifted his legs as she snuggled up and he gently swept the powdery grit from her arms.

"Maybe I'll come out there and visit, huh? You might need me to keep all those good-looking guys off ya', right?" He lifted her chin toward him and laughed as he kissed the salty tears that slid down Carla's beautiful face. "Why the tears? I won't forget you."

"Listen, hot stuff," she sniffed, "if New York doesn't work out, I'll be back here faster than you can say 'three-alarm fire!'" She kissed him again and leaned her head against his warm, sun-kissed chest, allowing the tears to fall onto him. "I don't know why I'm crying-just nervous, I guess. I've never done anything this big before, you know?" she admitted. She rubbed at the tears that still trickled, "I'm leaving in two days, John. Once I get all my things packed up, we might have time for a little more, um, fun, huh? I'll call you, okay?" She looked up at his smile and placed her hands on his face. "Save up for a ticket to come see me."

"You're hotter than any fire, babe...you'll knock 'em dead, I know it."

She stood up and brushed her skin of the dusty remnants and pulled him to his feet. He picked up her bag and handed it to her. "Be good," he whispered.

He watched her turn and walk away from the sandy-beach picnic they'd been having, or at least had started to have. Somehow, every time they got together, it turned into a hot and sweaty romp in whatever place they happened to be, and Johnny loved every minute of it. But Carla had taken a job in New York and was leaving in two days. He'd miss her smile, her eyes and her "talents" for sure.

He sighed, "Man, there goes one gorgeous chick."

**Present Day, 1974**

The MVA had been a bad one, a repeat performance it seemed of the one they were called to earlier in the day: two fatalities, one drunk driver and traffic backed up for blocks. This time, however, one of the victims had been riding his bicycle when the drunk ran through the intersection without slowing, swerved to the right and jumped the sidewalk, hitting the young man and throwing him across the hood of the vehicle. He was dead before the crew arrived.

The drunk had then plowed into a power pole and was pinned inside his car. Roy and Johnny climbed into the wrecked and smoking vehicle and began to assess his wounds. Roy's hand came away from the man's leg slick with bright red blood-he was bleeding profusely from a wound they couldn't reach. Gage frowned at the man's BP and noted the low respirations and pulse. Johnny paused and locked eyes with Roy who grimaced in recognition. They knew. Roy called out for Marco to bring the pry bar and for Mike to bring the jaws, but they knew it was a long shot. Despite the efforts of the crew, extracting the man in time to save him was not to be.

They could smell the alcohol, there was even an eye witness-it was clear to everyone there what had happened and still they hated to lose a victim-even the one who had caused the accident. Sadly, Roy keyed the mic, "L.A., squad 51, request coroner at scene."

"_Squad 51, L.A."_

"Man, I'm telling you, Roy, people just don't wait until the weekends to start drinking anymore. Not that drinking that much is ever good, of course, but c'mon, Thursday morning?" Gage shook his head in disgust. "I just don't get it."

"I know," Roy said quietly, "that other guy was just out riding his bike. Whoever expects a drunk to be out at that time of day? What a shame."

They trudged into the kitchen behind Mike and Chet with Marco and Cap following. They scattered to whichever seats appealed to them-Chet to the sofa, Mike to the chair in front of the TV and the rest of them around the table. They were quiet and each man looked at the others, unblinking, until finally Johnny sighed loudly and slapped his palms on the table, "All right, _I'll_ make the darn coffee!"

He got up and grumbled his way to the stove while the others chuckled. They'd perfected the famous "coffee-needs-to-be-made stare-down" and they knew Gage would fold;he did it every time.

While John measured the coffee and started the percolator, Cap reminded them of the jobs that had been left when the klaxons had gone off during roll call.

"Sorry, guys, we all have things to do that didn't get done this morning," Cap sighed. "Gage, DeSoto, you guys go do your calibration and inventory, then you can have the dayroom clean up, Chet, latrines; Stoker, dorms; Marco, you have lunch. After that, we'll all hang the hoses together-won't that be a treat!"

"Oh yeah, Cap, that sounds like fun," Chet answered, tartly.

"Yeah? Glad to hear it, Kelly; you can haul 'em up first, then. Meanwhile, I'm going to my office. Seems that mountain of paperwork did not do itself while I was gone."

Mike shoved himself out of the chair, stretched and ambled into the dorms. "Might as well get started while the coffee's brewing."

"Not me," Chet interjected, letting his head flop onto the back of the couch, "if these two accidents are any indication of how the rest of this day is going to go, I'm not getting up again until I have to."

Roy slapped John on the back. "Let's get started, Junior. If we have to restock, we'd better do it before we..."

"Don't!" Gage snapped. "Don't even say it!"

He pushed his partner through the door into the truck bay without another word.

"Coffee's ready!" Marco finally called, "Get it before it gets you!"

Mike, Roy, and John stampeded back into the kitchen, eager for a cup of the energy-sustaining brew. Chet got up from the sofa and took the mug Marco offered him. Lopez poured the last cup and, noticing that Cap hadn't yet joined them, began another pot to be sure there was plenty to go around.

The phone jangled in its cradle as Marco walked past.

"County Fire Station 51, Fireman Lopez speaking," he answered. "Yes, ma'am, he's here, just a moment, please." He covered the receiver with his palm, "Gage! Phone!" Waggling his eyebrows he added, "It's a laaaydeee!"

The heavy chair squeaked loudly as Johnny got up from the table and darted to the phone. "Gimme that!" he snorted to Marco, swiping the phone from his hand, then answered, "Fireman Gage."

Marco turned away, mumbling something about the woman's sexy voice and how nobody with a voice like that ever called _him_ at the station. Had he listened in, he might have gotten an earful of a pretty risqué conversation.

"H-Hey! Wow, how've you been?" Johnny declared, then after just a minute, lowered his voice and turned toward the wall. He was blushing down to his toes and quietly chuckling. He chatted for nearly ten minutes, which was pretty much unheard of. Unless he was ranting about something, Johnny thought any phone conversation that lasted more than two minutes was a major drag.

When finally his call was finished, he wore a punch-drunk smile on his face and ran his hand through his hair, blowing out a heavy sigh. "Whew. Man, I haven't heard from her in ages!" he mumbled.

"Heard from who?" Roy asked as he rinsed out his coffee cup.

"Oh...uh, Carla." Johnny responded.

"Huh. Carla. Don't think I remember a Carla. When did you go out with her?"

Johnny paused before replying. "It was uh, a couple of years ago now, I guess. I never got around to introducing her to anyone here. We were, uh, you know, pretty busy."

He grinned and Roy knew exactly what Johnny meant by "pretty busy."

Johnny continued, "She left L.A. for New York when she got a job modeling. Man, she was hot! She said she's back in town after breaking it off with her boyfriend and the modeling agency. Guess things didn't work out." He grinned again and said coyly, "She wants to meet up for dinner tomorrow night…at my place."

"Right…dinner," Roy replied with only a hint of sarcasm. "Eating in, I suppose?"

Johnny's response sputtered out with a smile and he shrugged. They'd be dining in, alright; that was for certain.

The remainder of the shift was just as busy as the morning, and Chet never had a chance to ask Johnny more about his phone call. Despite the hectic shift, nothing seemed to darken Johnny's day, as he looked forward to his reunion with Carla. The paramedics responded to one near drowning, two heart cases, an asthma attack, one call for a woman who had fallen down a flight of stairs, and one for a child choking on a marble. They also accompanied the crew to a small fire in a kitchen and yet another MVA. Still, Johnny's buoyant mood stayed constant. As the shift neared its end, he was snickering to himself running all his plans for the evening around in his mind.

Oh yes, he had plans for that night! Johnny was determined to be at his best and have plenty of energy for his and Carla's "activities" so without even showering or changing from his uniform, he yelled his goodbyes and dashed out to the Rover. Roy shook his head, suppressed a snicker of his own, and as he watched Johnny leave, thought, "_This ought to make for some interesting tales when he comes back next shift!" _

Roy felt a light smack on his shoulder and heard Chet snarl, "Awright, spill it, Desoto. What's up with Gage?"

Chet was peeved he had missed a prime opportunity to torment Johnny and was determined to find out why, despite the crazy shift, Gage remained upbeat. In fact, Johnny had only shaken the water from his hair and grinned like a Cheshire Cat after the most recent water bomb. There had been no "CHE-ET!", no "You'll pay for this one, Kelly!"…nothing. John had an expectant grin plastered on his face ever since that call and Chet was desperate to know why.

"He has a date tonight." Roy conceded.

"I know that, Roy, I saw him turn to mush after that call, but this is way more than just a date. This is something big. I've never seen him so…so annoyingly happy!"

Roy just smiled and said, "I'm not at liberty to divulge details, Chet. You'll just have to wait for the morning after to hear about it, I guess."

Johnny smiled and sang along with the radio for the drive home, parked his Rover and practically skipped up the stairs to his apartment. He walked in and on the way to the bathroom, stripped his clothes off and dumped the dirty uniform on the closet floor. He stepped into the shower, and began to sing a Bad Company song from the new album he had purchased.

"Feel Like Makin' Loooooove…" he warbled, not caring that he was not cut out for serenading. _"Haha….better not quit my day job,"_ he laughed to himself. _"Oh well, I can't be good at everything…just the important stuff." _

John stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around his trim waist. He squeezed the water from his hair and ran his fingers through it in a typical John Gage "good enough" way of styling it. He fought with the bathroom window and finally got it to open to release some of the steam. He wiped off the foggy mirror with another towel and went out to the living room to tidy things up a bit. He hadn't been home for anything more than sleep in the past two days, so there wasn't much mess to contend with he noticed, thankfully. Still, his apartment could stand an airing out.

When he began to pick up the clutter, his eye landed on the folded papers with home listings he'd been perusing. He eyeballed the ad he'd circled and smiled. For the past two weeks, he had had his eye on a little ranch with some acreage just outside of Carson. With any luck, he'd be bringing his dates back to a real home soon instead of this dumpy one-bedroom apartment. He sighed and put the paper away in the side-table drawer. Such as it was, this was home for now, so he set about making things as nice as possible before Carla arrived.

Johnny took a dust rag to the end tables and the few knick-knacks he owned. He opened the drapes, decided the windows were filthy, and closed them again rather than take the time to wash them.

"We won't be looking out the windows tonight, anyway," he chuckled to himself.

His plan was for a nap, then wake up with enough time to go out to buy some flowers and wine for Carla. He'd have dinner delivered, light some candles and with a bit of good fortune, the rest of the evening would take care of itself.

Johnny briefly wondered why Carla had come back to L.A. after being gone for nearly two years. She said things hadn't worked out, but he'd seen her success-the magazine covers, the public appearances, the notoriety. What had happened to make her want to come back to Carson? Modeling for the Eileen Ford Agency, she made more money in one year than Johnny made as a firefighter/paramedic in three. She had kept in touch with an occasional letter, telling all about the marvelous things in New York and how much she loved being there. As time went on though, the enthusiasm in the letters seemed forced somehow...like she wanted to convince _herself_ as much as him that she had made the right decision.

Johnny asked her once in a letter back, if she was truly happy there, but she never wrote again until the beginning of the second year and by then the question was forgotten and unanswered. By that time, she had met a man named David and he loved her very much, she said. Another letter told him they were traveling the United States and Europe together, then they were engaged and then… she wrote once more saying Johnny shouldn't send any more letters-David disapproved. Johnny wrote to her just once more, telling her to remind David that she and Johnny were just friends and not a threat to their relationship, but when months went by with no reply, he gave up and found other interests to keep himself occupied. Carla became just a fond memory that brought about an occasional wicked grin.


	2. Chapter 2

**A FATAL REUNION- CHAPTER TWO**

Deciding the apartment looked neat enough, Johnny headed off to bed. He sat down on the side of it and let himself sag into the soft mattress. He reached a tired hand over to the side table and set his alarm for 4:30, lay back against the pillows, tossed a blanket across his legs and was asleep within minutes.

The alarm woke him with a start, ending a really good Carla-infused dream. He blinked and looked around then remembered his plans for the evening. He jumped from the bed and remade the sheets and blankets, smoothing them over and over until they looked just right.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror above the dresser and rubbed a hand over the stubble that covered his chin. "Hmm, better take care of this," he muttered, "Cant do much about the apartment, but I _can_ do something about the face."

The water from the bathroom tap never got hot enough for his taste, so he went to the kitchen to heat some water in the kettle for a quick shave. As he stood waiting for the kettle, his stomach growled loudly and he realized he had skipped breakfast and slept through lunch.

_"Dinner won't be delivered until seven,"_ he thought. _"A little snack won't kill my appetite."_ While the water began to boil, Johnny ate half of a ham and cheese sandwich and chased it down with a glass of milk. "Jusht enough to top off the tank," he said, chewing noisily. He gulped down the last bite and tossed the paper plate into the trash just as the kettle began to whistle.

Johnny took it with him to the bathroom, poured the steaming water into the sink and began to shave. To say he was a little distracted was an understatement and when he was finished, Johnny sported several spots of toilet paper on his face, staunching the blood from a half-dozen nicks. He grumbled about the tiny cuts at first, then went to get dressed.

He stood before his closet, and felt the butterflies start to dance in his stomach. His feelings about the evening were turning from excited to nervous and he wished the clock could speed up and end the torment of waiting. When she had called Johnny at the station, Carla simply said that she and her fiancé had split up, and that her brother had decided it was time to return to California. Maybe it was the thrill of hearing her voice again after so long that had his stomach in knots, maybe it was the wondering if she'd changed much. He wasn't sure.

After a few minutes, he finally decided his best jeans and a burgundy shirt would look nicest. He looked longingly at his broken-in, deer-skin moccasins and craved their comfort, but thought a sophisticated girl like Carla would expect something more appropriate. He chose his brown loafers instead and once again checked the clock- 5:10. Still plenty of time to run down to the Mom-and-Pop for the flowers and wine and be back before 6:30 when Carla would get there. He kept glancing at his watch and then berated himself for checking so often.

"Knock it off, Gage," he admonished himself. "She'll get here when she gets here."

His mind ran in circles trying to recall pieces of old conversations, things she liked to do, her favorite color, but nothing came back to him- he could only recall the places they had their many rendezvous'. They weren't in love back then, they had been completely in lust. They had been getting together for a little over six months when she told him about being hired by Eileen Ford and leaving California. Carla had dreams for her future that didn't involve staying in Carson, but he hadn't been concerned with that then- he just enjoyed being with her and accepting what she offered.

She really was stunning, tall with long brown hair that gleamed with natural caramel-colored highlights, eyes like emeralds and a body that, well, wouldn't quit. The modeling agency had certainly not made a mistake. But she was more than beautiful and sexy; she was fun and spontaneous and made life exciting. Just the kind of girl Johnny thought he might be able to fall in love with...someday. He remembered how, even though they were "just friends," it still had ached just a little when she left.

At precisely 6:29, his doorbell rang. Johnny bounded toward the door like an anxious puppy, then took a deep breath and blew it out again to try and calm himself. He opened the front door and smiled his trademark smile at the lovely lady waiting there.

"Johnny!" Carla exclaimed. In one swift move, she took his face in her hands and planted a large kiss on his astonished mouth.

"Oh, wow, Carla, hey, uh, c'mon in!" Johnny stammered when she had finally let him come up for air. "Y-You look great!"

He moved out of her way and she swept inside, a gorgeous vision in a plum colored Armani silk dress and it took his breath away. She glanced around the tiny living room and frowned minutely.

Johnny noticed. "I-I'm sorry my place is so small," he apologized, "but I'm not really here all that much. I'd give you the royal tour, but it would take all of about 4 minutes."

"Oh, Johnny, nonsense! It's perfectly fine!" Carla gushed. "I'm just so happy to see you again. It's been so long!"

If it were possible, Carla was even more beautiful than when Johnny last saw her. "_Wow,"_ he thought as he watched her waltz past him, "_look at her! Every inch is phenomenal!" _Carla wrapped her arms around him and delivered another long kiss.

"Heehee, wow...uh, are you hungry, Carla?" Johnny finally asked. "I-I'm having Italian food delivered here at seven. I hope that's okay with you."

"Oh, anything will be delicious if I'm sharing it with you," she told him with a dazzling smile.

He motioned toward the sofa and said. "How about we sit here? I'll go get the wine."

"That sounds absolutely lovely." Carla replied, graciously.

Her deep green eyes sparkled and her long auburn hair fell loosely in waves around her shoulders and shone like satin. She seemed more...mature? Exotic? Sophisticated? Whatever it was, Johnny was completely entranced. He turned to go to the kitchen for the wine, but couldn't seem to keep his eyes from her. He stumbled over the ottoman and nearly fell flat on his face, but caught himself before he embarrassed himself further.

Carla blushed and giggled coyly, sealing Johnny's infatuation with her. He righted himself and smiled at her as he entered the kitchen to pour the wine. He quickly breathed into his palm to check his breath and examined his teeth in the back of a large spoon- perfect! He returned with the only two crystal wine glasses he owned filled with beautiful Chianti. Johnny really didn't care for wine and honestly didn't know all that much about which wine went with which foods. He did know enough that the beer he preferred was not going to impress a woman like Carla. He was sure she was far too cultured now after her time in New York. He handed a glass to Carla and turned down the lights.

"So, uh, Carla, don't get me wrong, I really love that you called and are here and all, but um, whydid you decide to look me up?"

"Well, darling, I figured you'd want to know a few more details, and I'll certainly provide them, but how about we talk about you, first? I've missed you terribly, Johnny, I really have."

_Darling? She missed him? _Carla's beauty was as intoxicating as the wine but the way she was talking and the fact that she missed him seemed odd. It wasn't like they had been a "real" couple anyway, was it? Besides, once the letters from New York ceased, Johnny had moved on. If he hadn't been so distracted by her attentions, he might have given it more thought.

She kissed him gently again and his head spun. He was eagerly anticipating what he thought she had in mind for tonight, and it appeared she still was intent on that. Yet he couldn't seem to wrap his head around what she said. His memories of her consisted mainly of hot, sweaty evenings spent playing sensual games and enjoying each other's mutual bedroom "talents." On the rare occasion that they had an actual date, it was only for a nice dinner somewhere as a prelude to the usual fun. For the six months or so they were together, if Johnny had time off from the station and wasn't spending it with the DeSoto family or other friends, he spent it with Carla.

Truthfully, he hadn't been surprised when she left for New York two years ago. He knew her life wasn't going to be in L.A. and it wasn't going to be with him. "Fun while it lasted" was what ran through his head. Still, here she was, professing how much she had longed for him. It was just...strange.

"What about your fiancé?" he finally asked her. "I mean, from your letters it sounded like you had a pretty good thing going."

She stiffened a bit and seemed determined to change the subject. "Oh, well, you know how things go sometimes," she whispered, "it just wasn't meant to be.

She waved a hand as if dismissing the notion of having ever been in love with the man. "He didn't want me to work as much; wanted to decide where I'd travel. There was...another woman...and I…I wasn't about to put up with that." Taking in a deep breath, she continued, "Anyway, you haven't told me what _you've_ been up to since I left, Johnny. I'm sure you're much more interesting than my silly modeling job." She leaned in closer, "Firemen lead such dangerous and exciting lives!"

Johnny exhaled, scratched his chin and looked down at his feet for a moment, deciding how to respond. "Yeah, I 'spose we do," was all he could think of.

Carla looked Johnny in the eye and said, "Danger is such an aphrodisiac, don't you think?"

"Uh...Uh-huh..." Johnny was captivated by her gaze until the sound of the doorbell interrupted. "I…um…here the food is…I…I mean, the, the food is here…" he stammered.

He set his wine glass on the coffee table and went to answer the door. He quickly brought the boxes and bags into the kitchen and set about putting the plates and silverware out as Carla brought the wine glasses in from the living room.

"Johnny, this smells wonderful!" she gushed. "I know you'd pick just the right thing." She smiled as she peeled back the paper lid from one of the dishes, then her brows knitted in a frown. "Oh, that's too bad...no clams in the fettuccine."

Johnny thought he detected a tiny hint of anger in Carla's voice and started to get that nervous feeling back again. Her behavior was baffling.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, Carla, I-I just kinda' guessed at what sounded good."

"It's perfectly alright, Johnny; don't fret about a thing", Carla said with another lofty wave of her perfectly-manicured hand. "I'll just pour more wine."

He held a chair out for her, wondering how she managed to go from irritated to pleased in the blink of an eye. He shook his head vaguely to dismiss his misgivings and sat down at the table. During dinner, Carla continued probing for information on what Johnny was up to lately. Every time the subject of her years in New York came up, however, each question was deflected back to him and what _he_ was involved in. David's name or the names of anyone else she had known there had not come up again that evening.

Once dinner ended, Johnny invited Carla back to the sofa. She curled up beside him and began to nibble his neck. She unbuttoned the top four buttons on his shirt and slid her hands in to stroke his chest. There didn't seem to be any question as to what she intended, and Johnny reached behind him to turn out the lamp. With only candlelight glimmering in the room, Johnny and Carla most definitely got reacquainted.

Johnny reclined on the sofa, holding Carla in his arms. The coffee table had been shoved to the center of the room and their clothes had been unceremoniously dropped in heaps around them. He dozed peacefully and though Carla was nestled cozily with him, she wasn't sleeping in the least. Her green eyes reflected in them the flames of the candles that were burning down to nearly nothing.

She thought back to her time with Johnny before she left for New York. He was sexy and kind and sweet, and there was no doubt he was very good in the bedroom. She never asked him for more than a good time, but now she wondered if things had been different-if she hadn't planned on going to New York- they might have made a nice couple. She never told Johnny that just before she left, James had returned. He had been Carla's first love- all through high-school and for two years after. She knew he was kind of controlling, but she was only twenty and totally smitten- no man had paid attention to her in "that way" before. Then he cheated on her and left and a devastated Carla blamed herself for months. By the time he came back to Carson three years later, she was excited to see him again and tell him about the direction her life was taking. James, however, was a man who thought women were put on this earth to do what he wished and he had no intention of allowing her be a model, where other men would ogle her body.

Carla insisted that her moving to New York was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but James wouldn't hear of it. She protested one time too many and James struck her. She fell to the floor and stared at him in silence. Johnny's face appeared in her mind. She wanted so badly to run to him and tell him what James had done, but James wasn't finished. He roared and railed at her about how she was his and she was to do as he told her. He grabbed her hair, yanking her to her feet and shoved her onto the sofa. As she cried, he forced himself on her to "teach her a lesson."

When he was finished, he growled, "I told you- You will _not_ tramp yourself out in New York!No woman of mine will put herself on display! You will do as I say!" and he spat on the floor as she wept. The spark of excitement she held for her future died that night. She sat in silence while James continued to demand her compliance and drank himself into a stupor until he finally passed out. As soon as she thought it was safe, Carla packed her belongings and fled to New York without saying a word to Johnny.

The agency was good to her; providing a lovely penthouse apartment, an extensive wardrobe of the finest designer clothes, and tickets to shows and events all over the world. She ate, drank and breathed the excitement and worked hard at her career and even harder to keep her memories of James buried. It was difficult to appear bubbly and bright at all times with James' violence lingering in her brain, but all Elaine Ford models were expected to behave perfectly in public and she wasn't about to risk being sent back to Carson.

Men threw themselves at her, fawned over her beauty and bestowed gifts of jewelry, furs and money- a lot of money. It was a heady thing, being able to have anything she desired any time she wanted it, and Carla basked in the attention. Men hungered for her and many, many of them passed through her arms- some as possessive of her as James had been- before it occurred to her that none of them were in it for the long haul. Men never wanted to _be_ with her, they just wanted to be _seen_ with the lovely Carla Culver- it was beneficial for _them_. To them, she was nothing more than an object, a bauble for their arm. It was nearly as painful as what James had done, and she became intent on finding a way to ease her torment.

When Johnny awoke, she was tempted to tell him what had happened all those years earlier, but in her eyes, he was perfectly content. He didn't have any dreams for his future; no aspirations beyond being just a firefighter and a para-whatever-its-called. It didn't matter anymore, anyway, she mused- men were selfish fools; good for having fun with and nothing more. She didn't suppose Johnny was any different. As she sat nestled on the sofa with him, a single tear ran down her cheek. Sometimes...she almost regretted what she did to them.


	3. Chapter 3

**A FATAL REUNION - CHAPTER THREE**

Johnny stirred a little which brought Carla back to the present and she hastily wiped her face.

"Mmmm, hi there," he murmured. "What's a classy dame like you doing in a place like this?"

"Hello, handsome," Carla nuzzled into his neck again. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Mmhmm. Wanna stay? I'll make breakfast in the morning."

"That sounds nice. Shall we move to a more comfortable spot?"

"C'mon with me," he smiled.

He scooped her up and as they laughed, he carried her to the bedroom. The light from an exceptionally bright full moon shone through the window blinds and her lithe body made a lovely silhouette against the wall. She glanced around the tiny bedroom and curled her lip slightly in disgust. _"How could anyone stand living in this dump? Men have no pride in anything other than themselves, I swear."_

Johnny gently placed her on the bed and she lay back on the pillows. She smiled sweetly and welcomed him to her side with a luxurious kiss. Carla knew she had Johnny Gage right where she wanted him.

It was past eight-thirty the following morning when Johnny finally awoke. He rolled lazily toward Carla and found she was gone. He rubbed his eyes, stretched and sat up. He thrust a hand under the bed and pulled out a wrinkled pair of boxer shorts, which he slipped on to go in search of her.  
He found her in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, busily preparing breakfast. A cutting board with his only sharp knife sat on the cupboard, and the bowl she used to whisk the eggs was tilted on its side near the sink. She was dressed in an outfit he hadn't seen her bring along, and her hair was damp from a shower he hadn't heard her take.

"Hey, I thought that was going to be my job." He smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck.

She seemed a bit startled at his sudden appearance and covertly slid the board, knife and bowl into the empty sink and began to run water over them. Without meeting his eyes she said, "Oh, you looked so peaceful; I didn't want to wake you until everything was ready. I'm sure you don't get _nearly_ enough rest with such a dangerous job." She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, "Poor baby."

Johnny raised an eyebrow in wonder. He appreciated the sentiment but it somehow sounded strange coming from Carla. She sounded almost…wifely? Last night had been pretty spectacular, but they'd had many spectacular nights before she went to New York. What made this morning-after seem so odd? She definitely wasn't the same Carla from two years ago.

He went to retrieve the orange juice from the fridge. "Can I pour you something to drink?"

"I'm almost done with the omelets; I'd love a Mimosa to go along with them," she requested.

"Oh hey, I'm sorry," Johnny chuckled as he rubbed a hand over one side of his face. "I don't usually keep champagne on hand."

"Really? That's too bad. You should, you know. It's the perfect way to start a morning and even if _you_don't care for them, your guests might. Your kitchen supplies are pretty lacking too, to be honest, darling-I don't know how on earth you could make anything edible in this pitiful kitchen!"

Johnny was slightly taken aback and tried to ignore the distinct chill in the room. _"Wow, where did that come from?"_ he wondered, unsure of what to say next. As Carla turned to face him, she noticed his stunned expression.

She smiled demurely and said, "Oh Johnny, I'm just kidding. Your place is charming and just perfect for you!" She moved over two steps to plant a kiss on his nose and said, "Breakfast is served!"

Carla brought two filled plates to the table, sat Johnny in a chair, and turned back to the sink.  
He admitted the omelets smelled delicious and since his normal breakfast consisted of a doughnut or a banana on the run chased down by coffee, this was a real treat.

He took a big bite and noticed all the extras in the omelet. "Wow, Carla, these are amazing!"  
He tasted peppers, tomatoes and onions along with cubes of avocado and slices of mushrooms. "Uh, I'm pretty sure I didn't have all this stuff on hand for the omelets, though. Where did you get all of it?"

She placed her finger across his lips, "Shhh. Don't you worry about that, it's my little treat. I was awake early this morning and went out to get some things. Now don't wait for me, you just eat it all up-you could use the sustenance."

He shrugged and picked up his fork to enjoy breakfast with this beautiful woman. He noticed she continued tidying up in the kitchen and was only sipping on her glass of orange juice-her omelet remained untouched on the table. He had put so much effort into impressing her last night but he forgot himself in the morning and spoke with his mouth full of eggs.

"These are pretty great, Carla," he said without swallowing. "Aren't you hungry?"

She looked askance at his lack in table manners, but smiled primly and said nothing about it. "You know, I guess I'm not. I was tasting all the while I was cooking; I must have filled up then. You go ahead and eat though; I'm glad you like them."

Her sparkling green eyes seemed to see right through him. He continued to eat, but a niggling doubt in the back of his mind caused him to question if his reunion with her was such a great idea. He couldn't wait to get to Roy's house and ask him about it.

When he had cleaned his plate of every bite, Johnny asked, "So…where do you go from here, Carla?"

"Well, darling, I don't know, really. I'm staying in my brother's condo in Placentia for the time being."  
She refreshed the hot water in the sink and snatched Johnny's plate while her own remained on the table. He watched as she squirted dish soap on it and began furiously scrubbing it with a small brush-another action that Johnny found unusual. He stood to place his hand on her shoulder and she turned to him, "Without being employed yet, I have plenty of free time. I'd love to, um, "see you" again," she winked.

Johnny was starting to get that squirmy feeling inside again and stalled by taking a large gulp of orange juice. He struggled to think of what to say. "I…uh…have kind of a crazy schedule sometimes…and, uh…I don't know when I'll be available next. You remember how it was."

"Hmm, yes, how it was," she said, quietly. "If I recall, your schedule wasn't a problem back then. Those were some pretty amazing nights we had together, weren't they?" She leaned slightly across the table and looked him in the eyes. "Last night could be the precursor to some _more_ amazing nights, darling."

He cleared his throat nervously, "Carla, uh, l-let me see what my schedule is like. I only have today off and then I'm back on shift tomorrow. I'll check then and call you. Would that be okay?"

"Well, I'm sure that would be fine, but…if you're off tonight, why not have dinner together? I'll cook again if you like-I don't even have to go back to Placentia...if you don't want me to. You already know I'm good at cooking...and other things." She smiled serenely, but inside was becoming annoyed with Johnny's reluctance.

"Yeah…last night was pretty incredible," Johnny blushed and hesitated, "but, ah, I promised my partner that I'd come over to his place for dinner tonight. We're replacing a window in his garage today and they like to feed me in appreciation for my help." He smiled at the thought of spending time with the DeSotos, and didn't notice the frown Carla wore.

"Oh, pooh," she pouted, "A silly old window is more important than me? I really wish you'd stay here tonight." She chewed lightly on her bottom lip and looked away.

"Yeah, uh, I'm real sorry, Carla, but I promised. Roy-he's my partner-uh, h-he's not real handy around the house, ya' see-"

Not wanting to hear any more excuses, Carla took a deep breath and interrupted, "Well, you can't blame a girl for trying." She walked into the living room to pick up her purse. "Perhaps we can arrange something else." She kissed him-hard-and followed it with a light slap on Johnny's behind. "Goodbye, darling, I'll call you."

As soon as Carla had left the parking lot, Johnny returned to the kitchen. He assumed there would be more of a mess, but his breakfast plate, the bowl and the small pan she used were drying on a towel by the side of the sink. There was barely anything left to clean: no bags from the grocer, no wrappings from the vegetables Carla had brought, not even the eggshells. Only her plate remained on the table.

"Huh. Well, at least I don't have to take time to clean up much." Johnny thought as he picked up Carla's breakfast. He knew no one else was there, but he still stole a glance around before he took a forkful of eggs and ate them. He chewed thoughtfully, decided the food was definitely better when hot and scraped the rest into the trash. He plunked the plate into the now cooled soapy water and looked around the kitchen. He noticed a couple of small mushroom slices on the counter top that had been overlooked. He picked up one piece and absentmindedly tossed it into his mouth, then made a face. "Yuck. These must taste better after they're cooked." The second piece was dropped into the garbage can along with the breakfast leftovers.

Although he wasn't terribly tired, he thought he might grab a short nap before heading to Roy's that afternoon. He thought about how he really liked being with Carla for…that sort of thing, but she was definitely different now. She didn't seem to possess the same light and breezy attitude she once did, and her smile and mannerisms seemed...forced, not genuine.

_"I expect she did a lot of changing in New York,"_ he considered, _"That's not a lifestyle that lets a person sit still for long. Sure glad I don't live there; I think I'd go crazy if I couldn't get away to the mountains once in awhile."_ Johnny lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. "_I just don't know if we should see each other again."  
_

Carla sped back to the condo she shared with her brother. Reaching into the back seat, she grabbed her bag and removed the sack of trash she had put there after making breakfast at Johnny's. In it were the eggshells, the wrappings from the peppers, the onion skins, avocado peels and the little paper sack that she had brought the mushrooms in. She started toward the rear of the building and caught her heel in a crack of the sidewalk. She stumbled slightly, then yanked her shoe free and noticed a scar the action left behind on her lovely footwear. "My Vivienne Westwoods!" she hissed. This only served to raise her ire and with more enthusiasm than necessary, she crumpled everything into a ball and tossed it into the incinerator behind the condominium's complex, watching it burn.

As she stomped back to the condo, she grumbled, "This is NOT how it's supposed to work! No man tells me no! In New York, no man even told me, 'maybe later'! Not ever! Dammit, Johnny, I have to get back to you. I MUST see you...tonight!"

She rooted around in her bag until she located her keys and dug them out. She let herself in to her brother's place, thankful that he wasn't home. She tossed her clothes from the night before into the wash and went to her room to think.

-  
LATER THAT AFTERNOON...

Johnny must have had a particularly vivid dream for when he woke, he nearly fell out of bed, battling the bed-covers for the right-of-way. Finally he untangled his legs and went to get dressed to go to the DeSoto's house. He was tucking in his shirt and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. Something wasn't sitting well with him, but it wasn't just the unease from this morning's conversation with Carla. His stomach rumbled a little and he felt just a tad "off". Deciding he needed something to eat, he drank a glass of milk and ate a few cookies before heading to Roy's. It wasn't much, but he knew Joanne would prepare a great meal tonight and he wanted to have plenty of room to enjoy it. The drive to Roy's was short and the day was pleasantly sunny, but John still frowned as he mulled over Carla's bizarre behavior. Johnny pulled into Roy's drive and as he opened the door of his Rover, was swiftly ambushed by two young DeSotos who had waited all day for him to get there.

"Johnny!" they yelled and catapulted into his arms.

"Hey kiddos! Good to see you guys again! Where's your dad?"

Jennifer hugged him around the neck and Chris beamed at his dad's partner as they bounded up the sidewalk together.

"He's in the garage-I think he's waiting for you. He said something about not being in the mood to tear things apart until you got here," Chris told him.

Johnny had brought his tool box and belt along and chuckled at the thought of Roy trying to do this on his own. Despite his adeptness at para-medicine, Roy wasn't terribly handy around the house and was always grateful to have Johnny's help.

"Hey, Junior!" Roy greeted him. "Glad you made it. I don't think this one window should take too long to replace. Joanne's got some steaks for the grill for later to show our appreciation. Hope you're hungry."

"Always. Just lemme get my stuff," Johnny said with a grin.

Roy had already moved everything out of the way of the window to be removed and had unpacked the new one. It leaned against the garage wall and Chris stood there, carefully running a finger across the smooth glass. "Dad, can I help you and Johnny?" he asked.

Unfortunately, it had been Chris and a renegade baseball that necessitated the replacement, so Roy wasn't keen on letting his young son assist. Johnny, however, felt that Chris would feel better about having done the damage if he could help fix the problem and handed his tool belt to the boy.

"Here, buddy. You can wear this and hand us the tools as we need them."

Chris grinned at Johnny. In his eyes, the man always seemed to know exactly what to do. Johnny paused for a second and noticed his stomach was starting to churn again-just a bit. It wasn't much, so he tried to ignore it and the guys got to work on the window project.

Roy asked, "So…how was your evening with Carla?"

Johnny looked up at Roy, knowing the details would not be child-appropriate. He waffled and said, "Uh, pretty nice. We, uh, talked a lot, and had a good dinner...you know."

He trailed off, but cocked his head to look at Roy with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, trying to hint that he would delve deeper into the night's events later. Roy chuckled and decided he could wait a little longer to hear about this mystery woman.

Their job was nearing completion when Joanne came into the garage to announce the grill was heating up and would be ready in a few minutes. She smiled at the neat work the guys had done, sneaked a smooch to her husband and told them to wash up before coming out to the deck to eat. Chris ran out to the backyard and Roy started to put the tools away. Johnny started to pack up his things too and Roy turned around just in time to see him wince a little as he stood up from his tool box.

"Something wrong, Junior?" Roy asked.

Johnny straightened up and blew out a breath. "Nah, I'm good. Just getting hungry, I guess. Haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. Well, I did have a coupla' cookies, but I don't think that counts."

Roy clapped Johnny on the shoulder and led the way out of the garage to the deck where Joanne had prepared the picnic table. The steaks had been marinating all day and were ready for Roy to put on the grill. Johnny sat down in a lawn chair and accepted the cold beer Roy handed him. The afternoon was pleasingly warm and he reclined a bit, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. The steaks sizzled as Roy placed them on the charcoal grill. At that moment, Johnny's eyes flew open and he stood up quickly.

"Johnny? You okay?" Roy asked, noticing the startled expression on his friend's face.

Johnny shook his head and ran inside. Roy followed him into the house and stood outside the bathroom door, listening to his partner retching. When Johnny felt he was finished, he came out and leaned tiredly against the door frame. He wiped a sweaty palm across his brow, "Well, that wasn't how I was planning on spending the evening. Guess I'm coming down with something; maybe I'd better head for home."


	4. Chapter 4

Carla sat at the bonnet-top desk in her bedroom, drumming her fingernails on its surface. The sun's rays were streaming through the window making the diamonds in her watch sparkle with red and gold. She glanced down at its face, mesmerized by its gleaming.

"I imagine it's taking effect by now, dammit. I _must_ get to John tonight; this can't happen without me."

There were several small shelves inside the writing desk and in the center was a miniature door. Carla opened the tiny nook and removed an envelope. She smiled as she examined the paper inside-it was a list of names, with John Gage being next to the last one on it.

"Nearly done," she snarled. "I think I'll go back to Carson. Perhaps Johnny will decide to go home and I can visit later. I'll need some things to take along though..."

Carla stood up and turned to face the bed. She noticed a small corner of a suitcase peeking out from under it and stooped down to pull it out. Without opening it, she caressed its leather exterior and ran a slender finger over the brass locks. "Ah, my treasure; better than any man." Then she laughed, "But I do so enjoy showing them the error of their ways!"She carefully pushed the case back under the bed and went to pack her overnight case.

With that done, she entered the kitchen, snatched a sharp knife and went outside. Behind the condo was a small stand of cork trees illuminated by two sodium lights. She strolled down the path toward them and to anyone who might see her, she appeared to be simply taking a walk. Certain that no one was watching, she bent down to the base of the trees and sliced off another large piece of Amanita Phalloides—the Death Cap mushroom. Knowing they grew on both coasts, she had once obtained them in New York to add to a meal for one of her ill-fated male companions. It had been pure luck that she found them growing here a few weeks ago and she became excited to use them again. She tucked the piece into her purse and strolled casually back to the condo.

There, she diced up the mushroom into minuscule pieces and scraped them into a small paper sack. "I can put these in anything and no one will be the wiser. Anyway," she told herself, "if John only eats a few, it will be plenty to do the job. I just have to be with him when he does."

The thrill her plans brought to her was intense and Carla giggled as she tidied up the kitchen. She collected her things, leaving a note for her brother stating she had an early morning job interview in Santa Barbara and would be staying there that night. She knew her brother well-even if he doubted her story, he'd never say a word.

Cruising slowly through the parking area by Johnny's apartment, she noticed his Rover still hadn't returned. Wearing a petulant look, she parked three rows away to watch and wait.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Roy gave Johnny a cup of water with which to rinse his mouth. "Better?" he asked.

Johnny paused; then replied, "Yeah, I guess so. Boy, I don't know where that came from."

Roy guided him to a chair in the living room and sat him down. "Why don't you sit for a minute or two before you go," he suggested. "You're looking a little shaky-want me to get my stuff from the closet and check you out?"

"Nah, I'll be okay. I'm feeling better now, I think." Johnny attempted a smile, "Man, breakfast was so good-too bad it all went to waste." His hands shook as he got up. "I think I'd better go back to my place though, just in case this is contagious. I don't want your kiddos or Joanne to get it."

Joanne had been in the kitchen and heard her husband and Johnny talking. She walked into the living room and asked, "You don't want Joanne to get what?" Then, noticing Johnny's pasty complexion she said, "Good Heavens, Johnny! What happened?"

"Aw, I'm okay, Joanne. I just got a little sick to my stomach; must be comin' down with a bug. I think I'd better be goin', though," he mumbled. Then he began to salivate and swallow hard. He shot Roy a panicked look.

"Johnny? You gonna be sick again?" Roy asked. Johnny nodded and sprinted for the bathroom.

"Roy, why don't you bring him home?" Joanne suggested. "He's in no condition to drive himself."

"Yeah, I think I will-we can bring his Rover back tomorrow."

Knowing Johnny would likely protest, Roy went to the closet and got his spare medical equipment to check him over anyway.

"Johnny?" Roy called through the bathroom door. There was no answer. "Johnny, can I come in?"

A moan came from behind the door and Roy decided to take that as a "yes". He found Johnny sitting on the floor, his head leaning against the cool of the bathtub's porcelain. Roy helped him to his feet and led him once again to the chair. Johnny plopped himself down and hung his head.

"Roy…I have no idea what just happened here, but can I tell you how much I hate it?

Roy grimaced at his ill friend and knelt down in front of him. "Let me check you out here, Junior."

He placed the BP cuff on Johnny's arm and popped the thermometer into his friend's mouth. In other circumstances, Johnny would have argued against the once-over, but even he knew that with the way he felt, it was warranted.

Roy let the cuff deflate. "Hmm… a little on the low side for you, pal-110 over 72." Removing the thermometer he said, "No temp, though. That's good." As he checked Johnny's pulse, he noted it was quite rapid. "Johnny, your pulse is around 110. Maybe you should lie down on the couch for awhile."

Johnny shook his head slowly. "Nah, Roy, please, just take me home; I wanna go to bed. I'll be okay in the morning."

"All right, let's get going then." He helped Johnny to his feet and led him to the front door. "Joanne!" Roy called, "could you bring us a bucket and towel, please? We're heading to Johnny's."

A few seconds later, Joanne came bearing the requested items as a just-in-case addition. She gave Johnny a kiss on the cheek. "Hang in there, John," she said with affection. "I hope you feel better soon."

"Thanks, Jo. I'm really sorry about this. I don't know what the heck's goin' on; I was fine this morning."

Slowly they plodded out to Roy's car and Johnny sat down hard as if someone had tossed him there. He retrieved the handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped saliva from his mouth.

"Blech, this is disgusting-now I'm drooling." He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and took slow deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea. Roy kept one eye on the road and the other on his friend as they drove in silence back to Johnny's apartment.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla was beginning to tire of waiting and was about to give up, when she noticed a car drive in and park in Johnny's spot. Craning her neck to see who it was, she saw a handsome man get out of the vehicle and walk around to the other side. He opened the passenger door and Carla was overjoyed to see the man he was assisting was Johnny! She watched as they slowly walked up the stairs and saw Johnny hand his apartment keys to the other man.

"Poor darling," Carla cooed, "you'll need someone to stay with you tonight." She started her car and drove away in search of a phone booth.

Johnny was sweating and trembling and his stomach cramped viciously. His head spun, his face was ashen and his breaths came in ragged gasps. He knew he was headed for more vomiting and made his way to the bathroom. He vomited three or four more times before his stomach signaled the need to use the toilet for other reasons and he suffered the indignity of diarrhea.

Roy filled a tall glass of ice water for Johnny's bedside, turned down the blankets and placed the bucket on the floor nearby. When John exited the bathroom and staggered toward his bedroom, Roy appraised his partner: Gage looked like death warmed over and flopped into his bed with a groan.

"Johnny, I'm gonna call Jo and tell her I'm stayin' here for a while. You look like crap." Roy stated.

"Heh, no kidding. I feel like crap, too. You don't have to stay, Roy. I'm sure it's just the flu or something." Johnny said quietly. His strength was waning and all he wanted to do was pass out. "Damn, I'd better call Cap and tell him I won't be in tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry about that; I'll call him. You just get some sleep." Johnny curled himself into a ball and mumbled a nearly inaudible "Thanks, Roy" before falling asleep.

After calling Cap and then Joanne, Roy went to the sofa and bunched up three small pillows behind his back. He turned on the lamp and picked up an old Reader's Digest that had probably been filched from the station if he had to guess. He distractedly flipped through its pages, not really reading.

"Maybe I should make a call to Rampart-just...ask a doctor what they think." Roy decided aloud. Just as he reached for the phone, it rang.

"Gage residence."

"Johnny? It's Carla. Listen, darling, I didn't know if I'd find you at home yet, but I think I left one of my sapphire earrings there last night," she lied. "Have you seen it?" Her voice was light and friendly, disguising the hate and anger she harbored.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, Carla, this is John's friend, Roy. He's not feeling well right now and can't come to the phone."

Carla smirked, then innocently asked, "Gracious! What's so wrong that he can't even come to the phone?"

"He's come down with a stomach bug, I think. I expect he'll be better by the morning, but if not, I'll get him to a doctor."

She hadn't bargained on Roy still being there. Now she would have to tweak her plans a bit more and she wasn't sure how to go about doing that.

"Roy, is it?" Carla questioned, "Give me a few minutes and I can come and stay with him tonight. I don't have anything else going on, and I imagine you'll need to be home."

"It's no trouble," Roy told her. "I have to be at work in the morning, but my wife is coming over to check on him after the kids get off to school. I'll let him know you called, though."

"Oh...well, you take care of him then," Carla acquiesced. "I'll stop over tomorrow and bring him something to soothe his stomach. It was nice speaking with you Roy, good night."

"Good night, Carla," Roy said, and quietly hung up.

As the late afternoon became the evening, Johnny appeared to be resting. His stomach would still cramp occasionally, making him gasp and clutch his abdomen. When Roy went in to check on him, John was asleep, but restless, his face glistening with sweat. Roy touched John's forehead, checking again for a fever. Reflexively, Johnny turned toward him. His eyes were closed, but oddly, there were tears rolling down his face. Roy noticed a thin line of saliva that ran from his partner's mouth. He reached for John's wrist to check his pulse. Still reading around 110, Roy frowned, "Junior, I hope whatever you have lets up pretty soon. This is one mean bug."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla was irritated at being denied access to John Gage for the second time that day. Now she'd have to wait until morning and figure out how she was going to be with Johnny when that other man's wife would be there.

"This is only a small setback, not a failure," Carla reassured herself.

Once upon a time, she might have loved John, but after James raped her and the others in New York treated her like an object, it dawned on her that all the men she knew were selfish and stupid. The male species became like warts to her: ugly, useless, and if you had the right medicine, easily gotten rid of.

"I was such a fool," she said aloud. She had let her guard down for David, believing he was different. She allowed him to manage her career for nearly a year before she discovered he'd been embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from her. He accepted bonuses she never saw and had her sign false contracts that paid _him_ most of the fee. He even went so far as so encourage her to pose nude. That was something she couldn't understand: how James refused to let another man so much as look at her, yet David wanted every man in the world to lust for her. Then, when she discovered the enormous amount of money _he_ would be paid for her to pose nude, she finally took matters into her own hands.

"He got what he deserved- just like the others. I'm not sorry in the least."

She went back to Johnny's apartment complex to wait. "Johnny, darling, this is turning into a ridiculously long night."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

As the evening progressed, Johnny began waking every so often and Roy would encourage him to take sips of water, trying to stave off dehydration. By two o'clock in the morning, he relaxed his vigilance and went back to the couch. He wanted to catch some sleep before reporting to the station in the morning.

Johnny awoke around four-thirty and tried to focus his eyes in the dim light. He called out, "Roy?" There was no immediate response, so he tried again. "Roy? You...here? I…need…um, I…I need…"

He was confused, weak and not at all sure what had happened to make him that way. He knew he had been ill and he vaguely recalled being at Roy's house, but here he was in his own bed. He turned his head and noticed the glass of water on the bedside table. He was so thirsty! He tried to focus his bleary eyes on the glass-his hand trembling as he reached for it. The glass was _so_ close, but he couldn't seem to muster enough strength to grasp it and let his hand drop to the bed. His heart seemed to be going a million miles an hour and he became frustrated with the inability to satisfy his thirst. Johnny licked his lips and tried to summon Roy again.

"R…Roy?" Johnny called again. He started to panic; his muddled mind thinking he would die of thirst before anyone came to help. Johnny reached toward the glass again, accidentally knocking it to the linoleum floor. He slowly rolled his legs to the side and pushed himself up to the edge of the bed, convinced he was able to walk into the kitchen for more. Instead, he fell forward onto the floor, landing in the spilled puddle of water and lay there, bewildered.

In the living room, the sound of the water glass falling jarred Roy from his nap. He paused, trying to decide if he had really heard something or if the noise had been part of his dream. Then he heard Johnny calling for him, followed by a loud thud. Roy quickly ran to the bedroom, flipped on the light and found John on the floor, agitated and confused.

"Oh shit," Roy gasped. "Let me help you up, Junior."

Johnny heard the voice of his friend, but couldn't manage to see him clearly. He felt someone lift him from the floor, but the room was spinning and nothing made sense in his addled brain.

"Don't move, I'll be right back," Roy told him. Roy ran back to the living room and retrieved his medical equipment. Johnny was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking around him with wide, unfocused eyes.

"Lie back, Johnny. I want to check your BP." While helping his friend try to relax, Roy grasped John's wrist for a pulse check. He didn't even need to count the beats to know that it was racing much faster now. He slipped the BP cuff on and inflated it, quickly becoming alarmed at Johnny's blood pressure-90 over 70.

"I…I…need…I need…uh, Roy? I, uh…water? Roy? Can I…water?" Johnny fretted, unable to complete the sentence.

"Yeah, pal, I'll get you some water, okay?" Roy fibbed. "Hang tight for a sec. Let me check your eyes here, first."

Roy kept a steady chatter going as he flicked the small flashlight across John's eyes. John squinted and blinked at Roy and tried to bat the light away.

"Johnny, I'm going to get your water now, okay? I'll be right back."

Instead, he ran for the phone and called a squad.


	5. Chapter 5

**Fatal Reunion - Chapter Five**

Carla parked in the apartment's lot once more, and turned off the engine. She was not about to give up until she had crossed off every last name on that list and it was vital that she see this through to the very end. She rolled down her window for some fresh air and leaned her head back against the stiff burgundy leather of the headrest. She closed her eyes and recalled the first time she decided that she'd had enough of being a plaything for a man.

Peter Lennox had taken Carla back to his apartment for what he assumed would be another night of passion. Carla decided otherwise and after only two drinks, Peter found himself bound and gagged on the floor. His panicked eyes followed her as she paced the floor in front of him.

"Honestly, I give you so much, too...and you have to admit, you've never had it better in bed!" Carla giggled as she gently traced around his terror-stricken face with a keen-edged fingernail. "Well, just so you know, this _is_ the end. No more five-course dinners at Le Cirque or nights in the casino...your meal ticket is done with you. _You_ will not be needed any longer," she spat.

She turned the volume up on the stereo and with surprising strength, she pulled the helpless and terrified man into his bathtub. She smiled at the silvery blade in her hand and her heart began to pound in excitement. With one swift flick of her elegant wrist, she slit his throat and let him die there, all the while watching his torment with an impassive sneer on her lips. The sounds of Frank Sinatra played in the background as her emotions churned in a wild mix of terror, excitement and triumph. There was, however, no regret. She left his apartment in the dark of night and went to meet up with her friends as if nothing at all had happened just hours earlier.

There was no regret the second or third time it happened, either. Peter met his fate by having his throats slashed. Carla though, was not a girl who kept to the "same old-same old" and so the second man was discovered mysteriously drowned-floating in his apartment building's pool. The third, poisoned after a lovely romantic picnic, served up in the mountains. She wasn't sure and frankly didn't care if they ever found him. With each of them, Carla reveled in her power over the men as she watched them suffer and die. No more would she be the trinket - the showpiece for a self-centered male. Peter, Don and finally David were gone and no one at all would miss them.

They were the ones that she could recall the names of anyway. She once saw a man and woman arguing in the subway. The woman sobbed as the man raised a hairy fist and screamed at her. He shoved the woman to the bench and threatened her, yet no one else in the subway seemed to care. His behavior brought back memories of James as she stood there watching and shaking in fear. The woman finally escaped, running up the stairs and the man stormed away to the train queue. Carla was incensed with the man's behavior and followed him, waiting until there was a sizable crowd around them. She then smiled serenely as she surreptitiously hooked her foot around his ankle and he "accidentally fell" from the platform as a train approached. As the remaining crowd shrieked in horror, Carla melted into the throng, smiling in satisfaction.

Her twisted mind reasoned that Johnny was just another in the long line of men who had wronged her and she had little reason to believe it wouldn't work with him in the same way as it did in New York. She hadn't bargained there would be so many friends to look out for him.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

John's condition was souring and while Roy waited for the squad, he noted to himself the symptoms of John's illness that didn't add up to being a stomach virus. The diarrhea and vomiting had been violent and profuse, which could be a sign of a bout with the flu, but what of the confusion, the rapid heart rate and low blood pressure? Then there was this odd salivating Johnny was doing, and the tears that ran for no reason.

"Johnny, the squad's on the way. We're going to take you to Rampart-do you understand?" Roy asked.

His partner didn't seem able to fully comprehend what was happening and merely stared at him with fatigue-dulled eyes.

"_Rampart?"_ Johnny wondered. Oh yes, he remembered that name. "R…Rampart,"he nodded.

Roy breathed a bit easier once he heard the sound of sirens approaching. He left Johnny's room and as he opened the front door, noticed a large group of nosy neighbors congregating in the parking lot. "_People always gather around when emergency vehicles show up,"_ Roy groused. "_Things would go a lot smoother if they would just stay out of the way."_

Soon the paramedics were at the door and Roy greeted them. Their eyes widened in surprise when they recognized their friend from Station 51.

"Roy?" Kent Gerard said. "How'd we end up finding _you_ here?"

"Hey guys, this is John Gage's place; he's gotten really sick-he's in here."

Kent Gerard and Brian Martini knew Roy and Johnny well and had been friends for a couple of years now. They knew John Gage was an affable guy who would do just about anything to save another human being. They were stunned to see him as he was: pale, nauseous, salivating, and fretting in confusion.

"Johnny? Kent and Brian are here." Roy told him.

"Hey, John. Not feelin' so hot, huh?" Brian asked as he placed the BP cuff on John's arm. "Let's check you out here, ok?"

Johnny looked at Brian vaguely and nodded. "I…I feel…uh…I…I don't…" his words faded and his eyes wandered up to where Roy was standing. He blinked and squinted at Roy and shook his head, trying to make sense of what was going on around him.

"You just relax, okay Johnny?" Kent told him. "We're gonna get you to Rampart and they'll fix you right up." He placed his hand on Johnny's arm for reassurance and got to work. "Rampart, this is squad 69. How do you read?"

The disembodied voice of Doctor Brackett answered the squad. "Loud and clear, 69."

"Huh. Brackett must be taking a night shift," Roy wondered briefly.

"Rampart, be advised we have a male patient, 27 years old. He had vomited profusely earlier in the day as well as having several bouts with severe stomach cramping and loose stools. According to the victim's friend, the patient is still nauseated, but the vomiting and diarrhea has let up about an hour ago. Patient is ataxic, diaphoretic, and disoriented. Stand by for vitals."

"Standing by, 69."

"Kent, pulse is racing at 115, respirations 26 and shallow, BP is 100 over 82." Brian reported. "He has excessive salivation and weeping eyes. Pupils are slightly constricted and sluggish." He pinched the skin on Johnny's hand and watched it for a second. "Rampart, patient also appears dehydrated...I am reading a temperature of 101.3, Rampart."

"69, start an I.V. of normal saline and start him on 10 liters of O2. Transport immediately."

"I.V. Normal saline, 10 liters of O2 and transport. 10-4 Rampart." Kent repeated.

Johnny was so wrung out, he didn't even notice as Brian started the I.V.

Roy waved the ambulance attendants inside. As Johnny's bedroom was far too small for everyone, they waited outside the door as Brian and Kent helped Johnny to his feet and walked him the five steps to the waiting gurney. Kent placed the oxygen cannula under John's nose, then proceeded to check his BP again. Johnny wasn't really caring where he was going at this point and Roy walked alongside the stretcher, keeping his hand on Johnny's shoulder. None of them noticed the beautiful, dark-haired woman with the glittering green eyes who was watching them from within the crowd.

"I don't believe this!" Carla snapped. "That man called a squad? This is _not_ what I wanted at all! _Now_ how am I supposed to get to him? John Gage, you are _impossible_!" She stormed back to her car and followed the ambulance through the early morning traffic all the way to Rampart.

It was nearly 5:30 a.m. when the ambulance pulled up to the emergency bay and as the stretcher bearing John Gage was whisked inside, a nurse called out, "treatment four!" Doctor Brackett was inside waiting for them; Carla was outside in the parking lot, watching.

John seemed calmer and opened his eyes. He recognized Rampart, but the lights above his head took on a bright haze upon which his blurred eyes refused to focus. Roy helped Kent and Brian transfer John from the stretcher to the exam table, hang the I.V. and hook up the O2 to the room supply.

The paramedics were ready to leave and Kent said, "Hang in there, Johnny; we'll check in later. Roy? Keep us posted, alright?"

Roy nodded, "Thanks guys, I'll see you later."

Dr. Brackett barked out orders to the nurse and crossed the room to stand at John's side. "Johnny, can you hear me? Are you in pain?" he asked.

John tried to answer through the fog his brain was steeped in. "I...s...sick...hurts, Doc...feel bad…" his head lolled from side to side, then he curled up as much as he could. "S...sick...," he moaned.

Roy stepped forward, "Doc? I'll be right back - I'm gonna call Cap - he needs to know Johnny's here. Maybe I can stay for a while, too." As he exited the treatment room, he met up with Dixie who was just starting her shift in Rampart's emergency department. She was tucking the last few strands of hair up into her cap and turned around to smile at Roy.

"Roy? You're here awfully early. Working some overtime?"

Huh, I wish," Roy replied, "we just brought Johnny in. He's pretty sick."

"What? What happened?"

"Well, I don't know, really. He was at my house and we were sitting on the deck when he started getting sick. He threw up a lot and said his stomach hurt." Roy ran a hand across his forehead and it traveled through his hair. "We thought it was a virus of some kind, but it didn't let up much for at least a couple of hours."

"Hmm, where is he?" Dixie asked with a furrowed brow.

"They took him into Four. I was just going to call Cap and ask if I could stay here. It might be too late to call in a sub, but I'd like to try."

"Alright, Roy. You make your calls; I'll go check in on Johnny."

Roy left to use the phone in the staff lounge and Dixie headed to Johnny's room.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

The morning sun was coming up and the bright rays bounced off the hood and illuminated the dark interior of Carla's Buick. Carla scowled and looked around anxiously. "_There must be a way to get to Johnny,"_ she thought as possibilities whirled in her brain. "_If I go in to the hospital, they'll __wonder how I knew to find him there, but if I wait too long, I'll miss my opportunity!"_ She slunk down slightly as two nurses walked near her vehicle, heading into Rampart.

She chewed her lip and frowned in consternation. _"Perhaps I could call Station 51? They'd tell me he was out sick and in Rampart, wouldn't they? That would give me the excuse to visit him, anyway. But what if they won't tell me? They don't have any reason to believe I am who I say I am; after all, none of them have ever met me." _She slammed both hands on the steering wheel repeatedly and cried out, "This was so much easier in New York! John Gage, why can't you just do what I want? You are becoming a giant thorn in my side!"

She pushed a stray piece of hair from her face and took a few deep breaths. What if Johnny was truly sicker than she thought he should be? Carla was becoming worried that this time, she might not be able to follow through. There were just so many other people who knew Johnny and might get suspicious - especially that friend of his, Roy. She grumbled softly, knowing she was panicking and grasping at straws.

"I must get out of this heat - it's beginning to wear on me," Carla said aloud in the sun-warmed car. She left Rampart's parking lot and headed down the road to the first 5-star restaurant she could find that was open for breakfast. She pulled into the Ivy House Bistro, snatched her overnight case from the back seat and hailed a valet to park her car. She straightened her appearance as much as she could, then handed the grinning young man a very generous ten-dollar bill as a tip.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

"How's Johnny, Kel?" Dixie asked as she entered the exam room.

"I'm waiting on the blood panels to come back from the lab, but I don't think this is just a case of the flu - too many vague symptoms."

Brackett stepped to the side for Dixie. Her blue eyes regarded the exhausted paramedic with deep concern. "Johnny? How are you feeling now?" she asked.

The I.V. fluids had helped to raise his BP to a more normal range and the oxygen helped Johnny feel slightly less nauseous and more oriented. His eyes were still tearing and saliva still ran from his mouth. Dixie stood to his side and gently wiped it from his face.

"Dix...stomach...really hurts," Johnny said quietly. "I...I don't know...eyes are all...blurry; I...I can hardly...see."

Dr. Brackett picked up Johnny's wrist to check his pulse. "Still pretty fast, John. We're going to keep you for a while; I need to know what we're dealing with here."

Johnny nodded, closed his eyes, and asked, "Dix?...Roy leave?"

Just then, Roy returned to the exam room. "No, Johnny, I'm still here. Cap's letting me take a half day so I can be here for a while. Dwyer said he'd stay there for me and they got Paul Kendrick to fill in for you."

"Kendrick's...a good guy. Tell him...thanks...for me." Johnny mumbled.

Dr. Brackett asked, "Roy, what did Johnny have to eat at your place?"

"Nothing, Doc. Joanne had steaks to grill, but we hadn't eaten yet. He was just sitting on the deck when he started getting sick."

"Johnny? What did you eat before you went to Roy's?" Kel inquired.

"A…coupla' cookies…s…some milk." He seemed to be fighting sleep as he tried to work things out in his brain.

"Is that all? Just the cookies and milk?"

Johnny groaned as another stomach cramp seized him, "Uhhm…no…I had…breakfast...with Carla. She…made me this…incredible omelet."


	6. Chapter 6

**Fatal Reunion, Chapter Six**

Brackett turned away from Johnny. "Roy, I'm concerned about this being a type of food poisoning. If it came from something he ate, he could be just one case of a hundred different people suffering from this. If so, I'll need to contact the County Health Department."

The thought of going on dozens of calls like Johnny's made Roy blanch. "Johnny, where can we contact Carla?" he asked, "She might be having the same symptoms."

Unable to answer, Gage was in the grips of more stomach cramps. His pain came in waves and seemed to be getting worse again. He groaned and without warning, began to vomit. There was only bile tinged with blood, as Johnny had nothing left in his stomach to come up.

Brackett growled, "Dammit! Where's those labs?"

Johnny's eyes rolled back in his head and his body lay on the table like a wet rag. Dixie wiped Johnny's face clean of the sweat and saliva, replaced the nasal cannula and upped the flow.

A nurse entered the room and handed Dr. Brackett the lab reports. As he examined them, Johnny acted as though he wanted to say something, but then closed his eyes again and his head fell to one side. He had exhausted the last of his strength.

Kel turned to Roy, "Roy, do _you_ know where to find this Carla woman? If this is food poisoning and they both had something tainted for breakfast, I'd hate to think she's suffering these same symptoms somewhere alone."

"No, I don't. I've actually never met her in person, but, ah, we _did_ speak on the phone. I don't think she's sick, though. She called last night and wanted to talk to Johnny, but I was the one who told her he was sick."

Brackett considered the information before him, "Roy, according to this, his electrolytes are completely out of whack, and his blood work shows elevated liver enzymes, anemia and some pretty bad dehydration. The excessive vomiting and diarrhea could be causing the electrolytes to become unbalanced along with the dehydration, but there's something that Johnny ingested to cause the anemia and the liver enzymes to elevate. The salivating, the teary eyes and the blurry vision all lend themselves to a kind of poisoning, food or otherwise, but I'll need to research a little to determine which. If you're sure that his friend Carla has not been ill, I think we can rule out breakfast. I wonder what else he could have eaten that she didn't."

He cast a concerned eye toward Gage, "Roy, we're going to get him admitted and I'll run some additional tests. Are you going to stay here with him?"

"Yeah, I can stay until two o'clock, and then I have to go to work. Um, I think I'll call Joanne and Cap and give them an update," Roy told him.

Dixie walked with him to the staff lounge and motioned for him to sit down. "I'll come get you when Johnny gets situated in his room, alright?"

"Okay, Dix. Thanks." Roy sat down and dropped his head on his folded arms. Outside it was noisy with announcements coming across the loudspeaker, the typical hustle and bustle, but inside the staff lounge it was quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock. When he finished calling Joanne, Roy put in a call to Cap. His stomach was in knots and his fatigue was catching up to him.

"County Fire Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking."

"Cap? It's Roy. Uh, I thought you'd want to know, they're admitting Johnny. He's pretty sick."

Captain Stanley easily detected the tension in Roy's voice, "Roy? Are you okay? How sick is he?"

"Cap," Roy said as he rubbed his hand over his tired eyes, "they're not sure yet what's wrong, but Doctor Brackett suspects food poisoning of some kind. They've got to run some more tests."

"Food poisoning? I, uh, I guess I didn't know that could be so serious. Is there anything we can do to help?" Hank asked.

"Not for the time being. I'll be there by two o'clock and maybe I'll know more by then."

"Okay, Roy. You take care and I'll tell the guys for you. Tell John we're thinking of him."

"Thanks, Cap, I will."

Roy moved over to the sofa and leaned his weary head back. He only meant to rest his eyes, but soon he drifted off to sleep, waiting for Dixie's return.

Two miles down the road, in the lobby of the Ivy House Bistro, Carla was worried. If Johnny was in the hospital already, perhaps she had done too much on the first try. He was only supposed to be sickened at first-the culmination would come later. But now, surely there had been tests done which might show that he'd been poisoned. Carla twirled a strand of hair anxiously.

"_It's a pity this took such a turn- I was so hoping to take care of my entire list," _she thought to herself. Then, remembering the breakfast leavings she had tossed into the incinerator, she muttered, "I still have enough to do him in if I need to." With a roll of her eyes she sighed. "I suppose now I'd better make a phone call as the concerned girlfriend."

She flagged down a passing waitress and asked where she could find the nearest pay phone. The girl directed her to a corner by the door, shielded from view by a large three-paneled partition and several large Boston ferns. Carla sat on the small oak bench there and dialed Station 51. As luck would have it, Chet answered the phone.

"County Fire Station 51, Fireman Kelly speaking."

Carla cleared her throat and in her sultriest voice said, "Hello, may I speak with John Gage, please? This is Carla Culver."

Chet's mouth popped open and closed like a fish on dry land. Maybe nobody else knew who Carla Culver was, but _he_ certainly did! He didn't know Johnny's date was with _the_ Carla Culver! When Chet regained his composure, he stammered, "Uh, I'm sorry ma'am, John isn't here today. He's out sick."

"Oh no! He's ill?" she feigned. "What's wrong?"

"Yes, ma'am, he's in Rampart Hospital, actually. They're not sure exactly what's wrong yet."

_"Ha!"_ Carla rejoiced silently. "_I knew he'd spill. I can get a man to do anything!"_

Chet's palms began to sweat which made the phone receiver slippery and it nearly fell from his hands. He could not believe he was having an actual conversation with Carla Culver-his ultimate fantasy woman! Perhaps she wasn't as in demand as she once was, but Chet recalled just a year ago when she was on the cover of every magazine around and in every ad he read...especially the lingerie ads. Several of them had even been taped to the inside of his locker. Now he knew why Gage had snickered every time he saw them there. He snapped out of his daydream when he realized she was speaking to him again.

"Well?" Carla asked. "Is he?"

Chet fumbled with the phone, figuring he'd missed whatever question she had asked and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Culver, what did you say?"

Carla growled under her breath, _"Stupid fireman. He would be the one who knows who I am. Why must they all be such blathering idiots?"_ She composed herself and repeated, "I just asked if John's expected to be released any time soon. I'd _love_ to see him again." she purred.

Her seductive voice had Chet practically melting to the floor, but he said, "Uh, no ma'am. He's been admitted. He's pretty sick, I think. He'll probably be there at least a couple'a days."

Carla tutted, "Oh, that's too bad. Well, perhaps I'll go see him there. Thank you so very much darling, I must be going." She hung up and made an unappealing face. Now that she knew for certain that Johnny was indeed quite ill, she opened her overnight case and pulled out the small paper sack containing the pieces of mushroom. She smiled when she peeked inside.

"Time to bring a little get-well treat to my darling Johnny, I suppose. Let's get this over with."

On the other end of the line, Chet fell back against the wall and just stared at the receiver, wishing he could have bottled that sexy voice. It wasn't until he heard "hang up the stupid phone, Chet!" from Marco that he actually did it.

"Chet?" Marco asked. He walked over to a still-stunned Kelly and faked a slap to Chet's face. "Hey! Kelly! Snap out of it! Who the heck was that, anyway?"

"You guys wouldn't believe me if I told you," Chet replied, shaking his head. He walked away, mumbling in disbelief.

"Don't sweat it, Marco. Chet has apparently lost whatever marbles he had left," Mike stated flatly and went back to his newspaper.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

By eleven-thirty, Johnny was settled in his room on the third floor. He had been given a heavy dose of anti-emetics and DeSoto knew there was little chance his friend would be waking soon. Roy sat in the powder-blue vinyl chair with his head bent low, resting on his palms. The chair squawked noisily whenever he shifted, but he didn't notice. His thoughts were miles away, trying to think of something Johnny could have eaten before Carla arrived that night. Two I.V.s dripped fluids and electrolytes into John's veins, and despite the O2, Johnny seemed to gasp with each breath. His face remained pale and from time to time, his limbs would tremble.

"That's new," Roy thought as he watched John's arms and legs twitch. He looked up as Dr. Brackett returned. "Dr. Brackett, look at this. Johnny's arms and legs are trembling now. I don't remember that happening before."

Brackett was silent as he examined Gage again. He found John's pulse still too fast and his BP still lower than he'd like it to be, despite the medications. The fluids would help flush from Johnny's system whatever was causing the illness, but there had to be more he could do. He was becoming increasingly concerned that although Gage was resting, he wasn't necessarily recovering.

Roy watched Dr. Brackett intently. "How's he doing?"

Kel rubbed his chin, then stuffed his hand in his lab coat pocket. "I'll tell you, Roy, these new tremors bother me. I'm getting more concerned that this isn't just food poisoning. Johnny's liver enzymes are rising for some reason, but none of the tests come out conclusive of anything in particular. I know the fluids will help flush out whatever he ingested, but some sort of toxin is being left behind."

"Normally in cases of food poisoning, we'd test the patient's vomit and stools, but there was precious little left to test. He'd vomited pretty much everything but his toenails before he got here." He sighed when he noticed Johnny's legs shaking. "Roy, there has to be a way to contact Carla."

Roy shook his head. "Johnny just said her name was Carla and that she used to be a famous model in New York." He smiled slightly, remembering Johnny's excitement at seeing Carla again.

At that moment, a nurse from the front desk appeared in Johnny's room and said, "Dr. Brackett, a Miss Carla Culver is here to see Mr. Gage. Is he able to have visitors?"

"YES!" both Dr. Brackett and Roy exclaimed. "We need to speak with her!" They looked at each other and couldn't believe this stroke of luck.

Carla waltzed in with a package in her hand and both Dr. Brackett and Roy were taken aback at how lovely she was. "Carla," Roy told her, "I'm so glad you came to see John. We need help figuring out what's causing this."

Carla pursed her lips- Roy was there again. _"What is he- his personal body guard?"_ Now she'd have to be on her best behavior. She placed her purse on the table and tiptoed over to Johnny's bedside.

"Oh, my poor darling," she said, "what's happened to you?" She turned back to the men and with a false grief-stricken expression said, "He looks so pale. What's wrong? Will he recover?"

Dr. Brackett spoke first, "I certainly hope so, but at this point, until we can positively identify what he ingested, all we can do is use fluids to purge it. Have you had any symptoms of food poisoning at all? Any nausea or weakness?"

She turned back, "No, I'm sorry, I've been perfectly fine. Johnny didn't seem ill at all when I was there. We both ate Italian food from wherever he ordered it, and I've been as right as rain. I...I do wish I could help you more than that," she said with convincing sincerity.

Carla turned back to Johnny to hide the smirk on her face_. 'I guess I did give him more than I thought. I suppose just a spoonful or two of this soup should finish him off rather quickly then." _

"Uh, Carla, Johnny mentioned that you made an omelet for his breakfast. Was there anything unusual in it?" Roy asked.

She swallowed hard. This game of twenty questions from Roy and Dr. Brackett was beginning to make her feel flustered. "Oh, ah no, no, just some vegetables; I'm sure Johnny's had those before," she hedged. She snarled inside- would this man _ever_ leave long enough for her to cross Johnny's name off her list? "Dr. Brackett," she said in a lilting voice, "I picked up this soup for Johnny from the deli down the street. I had hoped he'd be well enough to have some, but it appears he's not. May I bring it by later?" It was this meal that would cause Johnny's demise and she was anxious to administer the final dose.

Dr. Brackett told her. "Miss Culver, soup would probably be the easiest thing for his stomach to take in any other circumstance, but since we're not sure yet what's causing the illness, it may be some time before he can handle it."

Her long lashes swept her cheeks as she looked dolefully to the floor. "Oh, I see," Carla said quietly. She'd have to rethink a few things...again. "Well then, I suppose I'd better go. I'm very sorry I can't be of more assistance."

Roy asked, "Carla, could we have your phone number in case something happens?"

"Oh, I don't think so, Roy. I'm staying with my brother right now, and he's very particular about to whom I give his number- you know, it's a temporary living arrangement and all. I'll call here instead." She was beginning to feel like a caged animal- agitated and angry. She whirled around to grab her bag at the same time both Roy and Dr. Brackett reached for it to hand it to her. The three of them collided and Carla's purse fell to the floor, scattering its contents.

"I'm so sorry!" the men apologized and bent down to help Carla with her things.

She flew to her knees and began frantically snatching the items that had fallen- especially the paper sack which contained the last of the mushroom pieces. She snatched it up and crumpled it into a ball before stuffing it back into her bag. "I-It's no problem...I assure you...perfectly all right..." she fretted as she snagged her lipstick, hairbrush and wallet. Finally collecting everything, she tidied her hair, brushed her knees and sputtered a rushed goodbye.

Roy grimaced, "You know, Doc, I still have until two o'clock before I have to be at work, I think I'll go to Johnny's house and look around. I might find something that would give us a clue."

"Good idea, Roy. Someone like you who's been there many times would notice if something was out of place."

Johnny stirred and restlessly moved his left hand to the cold bed rails. Roy walked over to his bedside. "Johnny? You coming around?"

Johnny opened his eyes and tried to blink away the haze as Roy's face came into focus. He nodded his head weakly and in a voice made hoarse from its trauma, he said, "'Z'at Car...la? She…sick too?"

"No, Johnny. She's fine, don't worry. Are you feeling any better?"

"Um...don' know. A little…maybe" Johnny whispered.

"Doctor Brackett thinks this might be food poisoning. Can you remember what all you ate in the past 24 hours?"

He managed a word or two between pauses. "Um...a ham…san'wich...before Carla…got there. We had...wine…with the food I…ordered. That's all…" he groaned thinly, "uh, until…she made breakfast."

Roy sighed, "Well, if it's okay with you, I'm going to your place and look around. There might be something you haven't thought of."

"'K," Johnny told him. Then he pointed a shaking finger to the sack on the table. "What's 'at?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, Carla brought you some soup from the deli. She must have forgotten to take it with her."

"Ugh," he groaned, "food…sounds awful. You...take it. Prob'ly...haven't eaten...today."

"Yeah, you're right," Roy conceded. "I'll bring it to your place and put it in the fridge."

Johnny simply nodded his head and Roy patted him on the shoulder. "Take care, pal. I'll be back after shift in the morning."

Johnny nodded again and drifted off to sleep as Roy picked up the sack and left. Dr Brackett stood there watching for a moment, then left with nearly as many questions as he came in with.


	7. Chapter 7

**A FATAL REUNION, CHAPTER SEVEN**

Roy waved at the old man watering his flower pots, the young lady walking her poodle and the gardener mowing the tiny strip of grass Johnny called his lawn. He made a wide circle around the rough-looking guy who sat snarling in his parking spot surrounded by tools and assorted parts of his motorcycle. He climbed the wrought-iron stairs to John's apartment and let himself in. The thick shag carpet still bore the tracks made by the stretcher and he shuddered a little. It had been a long, exhausting night and it was surely going to be a long, exhausting day. Roy stepped into the kitchen and searched the fridge for food that might be spoiled or sour, but found nothing. He rifled through the cabinets for anything past prime, but came up empty. It actually surprised him a bit at how little food Johnny actually had in the house. He then examined the trash for things Johnny might have thrown away, but found only two foil containers from the take-out food, a few paper napkins, some bread crusts, and the remnants of Carla's mostly uneaten omelet topped by a single slice of mushroom.

_"I don't know if would help, but I think I'll bring the trash back to Rampart," _he thought of the contents. _"Maybe they can analyze it for something." _Roy's stomach rumbled loudly and instinctively he glanced at his wrist watch- it was nearly 1:00. _"Geez, no wonder I'm hungry," _he considered. _"I haven't had anything to eat in ages!"_

Roy found a half loaf of bread and buttered a slice. "I don't suppose Johnny would mind if I ate something here before I go to work," he said aloud to the small apartment. He unfolded the paper bag and removed the container of soup from Carla. Roy placed it in the refrigerator, but when his stomach reminded him again of its emptiness, he took it back out and poured it into a small pan to re-warm on the stove. The relative silence of the room was snapped when John's phone rang. "Gage residence," he answered.

"Is John Gage there, please?" a man asked.

"No, I'm sorry, he's not; may I take a message?" Roy asked.

"Yes, please. Would you have him call me as soon as he can. My name is Arthur Dobson. The offer he made on the ranch south of Carson was accepted if he's still interested. The sellers have made an offer on another home and are anxious to sell this one now," he told Roy. "I believe Mr. Gage will be pleased to know this; he showed quite an interest in this lovely property. He can call me at 885-555-3948 any day from 9a.m. To 6p.m."

"I see," Roy said, astonished, "Johnny will be happy to hear that, I'll tell him soon as I speak with him next. Thanks for calling."

"Absolutely," said Mr. Dobson, "good day."

Roy hung up. _"Wow, a ranch. Johnny's gonna love to hear that,_" he thought.

He looked back at the stove to see the soup steaming and ready to eat. He had just turned off the burner and ladled the soup into a bowl and sat it on the table when the doorbell sounded. "I'm not ever going to eat again!" Roy grumped loudly as he went to answer the door.

An elderly woman stood there, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane. She smiled a nearly toothless smile at Roy. "Is Mr. Franks here?" she asked.

"No, I'm sorry, you must have the wrong apartment," Roy told her. "Can I help you?"

"Oh," she said. "I'm looking for apartment 321."

"Close," Roy chuckled. "This is apartment 312. 321 is down that way and to the left, I think."

"Oh gracious, thank you kindly," she said and hobbled away.

Roy sighed and went back to the table, hoping that perhaps _now _he would get something to eat. He was famished and only had 45 minutes to finish up at Johnny's, bring the trash to Rampart and get to work. Deciding he needed to hurry, he poured the hot soup into a large, deep mug, grabbed another slice of buttered bread, a can of cola from the fridge and locked up Johnny's apartment, taking the trash bag with him.

_"Man, I'm gonna be late and I still have to bring this stuff to Rampart," _he thought, looking at the trash. He slid into his vehicle, yawned, and as he drove off, took a large bite of the bread and a gulp from the soda can. "Heh, breakfast of champions", he snorted. At the first stoplight, he reached for the mug of soup. "This smells pretty good," he said as he brought it to his lips. "I wonder which deli Carla got this from?"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla was driving aimlessly, making endless loops around the main roads near Rampart and around Carson. Her hair was a windblown mess, she was nervous and irritated and fidgeted as she drove; her thoughts a jumble in her mind. Men were stupid, selfish and arrogant. Men only wanted sex and control; they were easily fooled and each one she disposed of had deserved it...and yet...something felt off about her leaving Johnny like that. If it hadn't been for Roy and that doctor, she could have done something to end it right then. The more time that passed, the closer they might come to figuring out what Johnny was poisoned with and trace it to her somehow.

Still, she needed to see him again; needed to witness his suffering and be there when it ended, she decided. She craved the ravenous release she felt when another useless male met his demise at her hands. She hungered for the feeling of power that would course through her veins as she watched him die. There was a hefty portion of the mushroom in that soup and Johnny would not recover once he'd consumed it, that much she knew, but how was she going to get him to eat it? Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes. The soup! She'd left it at Rampart! "Carla!" she screamed at herself, "you idiot! How could you have left it there? What if someone else eats it? What if they get sick and they trace it to you?" She released another loud shriek and cranked the wheel to the right to turn around. She had to get that soup back!

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Roy pulled into the parking lot of Station 51 and turned off the key. For just a moment he sat still, gazing out the window to the rear of the station. He was so tired; the last thing he wanted was to have a run right away and he hoped the klaxons would be merciful for at least a little while. He paused and took a deep breath before picking up the can of cola and the nearly empty mug of soup and brought them into the station.

Marco walked in from the truck bay as Roy came in. "Roy! How're you doing? How's Gage?"

"Ah, just a second, Marco. I have to change my clothes, then I'll tell you all about it. Some jerk behind me at the traffic light honked his horn and made me spill soup in my lap. What a mess."

"Ye-eah, I kinda noticed you're a little soggy, amigo. Sorry about that," Marco snickered.

Roy walked over to the sink and before rinsing the mug, took the last big gulp of the remaining soup.

"C'mon along, I'll fill you in," he said, wiping the drips from his chin.

Dwyer and Kendrick were out on a run, so the squad was gone. Chet was in Cap's office expounding on his latest invention, and Mike was sitting on the bench, reading. He looked up from his paper as Roy and Marco walked in. "Roy? How's Johnny?" he asked. "Any better?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Roy answered as he stripped from his soup-soaked clothes. "It was really kind of touch-and-go for awhile there. Doctor Brackett _thinks_ it's some kind of food poisoning, but so far, none of the standard tests are determining the cause. I went to Johnny's apartment to look around; thought maybe I'd find something, but I came up empty." He stretched, looked down at his feet, and said tiredly, "I'm really getting concerned about this."

Mike folded the newspaper and put it on the bench beside him. "Man, I sure wish there was something we could do to help, Roy. Are you hungry? I made lunch today and I think there might be leftovers."

"Nah, not really," Roy said. "I grabbed a couple of slices of buttered bread at Johnny's and there was still a mouthful or two of soup left in the mug after I spilled it, so I had that. I guess I'm not really as hungry as I thought I was, but thanks. What I really want is a nap."

Mike smiled and nodded and went back to the sports section. Roy finished dressing and walked out to find Cap and update him. The office was now empty, so he wandered into the kitchen, soon finding Hank sitting at the table, looking over some papers.

"Hey, Cap, I'm here. Dwyer can take off as soon as the squad gets back."

"Roy! Anything new with Johnny? How's he doing?" Cap asked, looking up.

"You know, Cap..." Roy paused and sat down hard in one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed heavily, "I just wish we could figure out what's causing this. All they can do now is give him I.V.s and oxygen because they can't pinpoint the source. It's ...really frustrating."

"Yeah, Roy, I imagine it is. I'm real sorry." Cap offered.

"I took the trash from Johnny's apartment and brought it to Rampart before I got here. I'm hoping their lab can find a trace of anything that might help us figure this out."

They both looked toward the truck bay when they heard the squad backing in, returning from its run. Soon, Dwyer and Kendrick came walking into the kitchen, and Paul went to the stove to pour himself some coffee.

"Hey, Roy," Paul Kendrick said, then made a face at the bitter taste of the coffee, "we just left Rampart. Dixie says Johnny's hanging in there, eh?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Roy answered. He looked over to Dwyer. "Hey, Charlie, thanks a lot for staying for me this morning. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Roy. Glad to help out," Dwyer answered. "But if nobody minds, I'm gonna split. I have some stuff to get done before I go on home."

"Yeah, we'll see you later, thanks again," Cap told him.

Just minutes later the klaxons sounded. "Squad 51, possible heart case, one-one-four-seven Cambria, one-one-four-seven Cambria, time out, two twenty-one."

Roy shoved himself away from the table and he and Kendrick dashed for the squad. Roy jumped into the familiar driver's seat, Cap handed the call sheet over and Paul flipped on the lights and sirens.

The victim was a younger man, barely out of his thirties. Both Roy and Paul were surprised when it turned out he was indeed having a heart attack. Stabilizing their patient was blessedly uncomplicated as far as heart cases go, and Roy rode in with the ambulance to transport their victim to Rampart. As they were exiting the treatment room, Dr. Brackett noticed them, and called Roy over to the desk.

"Roy, how's things going? Were you able to find anything at Johnny's apartment?" he asked.

"Not much, Doc, nothing looked unusual at all that I could tell. I brought in the trash from his kitchen earlier today and Dixie said she'd have it sent it to the lab." Roy told him.

"Yes, she mentioned that- I'll be sure to let you know what they find." Brackett rubbed his chin and fiddled with the stethoscope around his neck. "Roy, Johnny's liver enzymes are continuing to rise for some reason and his kidneys aren't putting out like I think they should by now. On the plus side, we haven't had any other reports of food poisoning here so far, so maybe Johnny will be the only one. He does seem more alert and less nauseated and that makes me think whatever he ingested is being flushed out. Do you have time to stop in?"

"Ah, yeah, I suppose so- 'long as we keep available. Okay with you, Paul?"

"Sure, Roy, I'll radio us in." Kendrick handed Roy the HT and decided to wait in the squad while Roy and Dr. Brackett walked to Johnny's room.

Gage's bed was in a more upright position and he was awake. The oxygen and two I.V.s remained. He would, from time to time, lift a shaking hand to wipe a bit of saliva that still ran from his mouth, using a handkerchief thoughtfully placed in his fist by a nurse. He blinked and squinted at things in the room, trying to focus his sight. He turned toward the door when he heard it opening. He could see two figures coming in, but couldn't make out who they were.

"Johnny?" Roy prompted, "How are you feeling?"

"Roy! Glad...you came back," Johnny said once Roy had gotten close enough for him to see. Gage still took short breaths and had to pause often when he spoke. "I'm...doing better...I think." Johnny took in a sharp breath. "Still have these...stomach cramps. Wish...I'd stop this...stupid drooling, too."

Dr. Brackett told them that even though John appeared to getting stronger, his liver and kidney levels were still mystifying. They indicated there was still something–a toxin of some sort—that was making diagnosis difficult. Johnny lay back and sighed.

"Johnny," Dr. Brackett said, "I'm getting concerned about these levels. Your blood sugar is low and getting lower, despite the medication. I'm sure food doesn't sound good to you right now, but I'd really like to see you try to eat something." He looked around the small room, "Too bad that soup is gone. You brought it back to John's, right Roy?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, yeah, I did, but, uh, I ate it," he admitted, sheepishly. "Well, actually, I ate _some_ of it...then I wore a lot of it." He looked again at John who wore a bemused smile. "I didn't think you'd mind if I had something to eat while I was looking around and well, you didn't have much to pick from, so I thought I'd have the soup. I put it in a mug to drink on the way to work but I kinda' spilled it all over myself," he explained with an embarrassed smile.

Johnny's chuckle sounded thin. "Aw, that's...okay, Roy, I...can get more...later. Really...the thought of food...makes me queasy," John said quietly.

"Johnny, I know you don't feel up to eating, but I can't stress enough how important it is for you to try. I'm going to have a tray sent up at dinner time tonight and I'll be sure it's nothing too strong-tasting. I'd like to see you get some real food in you."

The mere idea of putting a forkful of _anything_ in his mouth made John swallow back a bit of bile. "Doc," he lamented, "any time...I've been a hostage...I mean...a _patient_ here...I have _never..._had anything...strong-tasting!"

"I understand," Brackett said, with a wry smile. "Just promise me you'll try."

"I'll try doc...I promise," Johnny frowned.

Brackett was far more concerned about Johnny than he let on. Gage's skin was taking on a yellowish tint indicating more serious liver problems than was first thought. His blood pressure was still too low for someone of Johnny's normal physical condition and his muscle weakness was not rebounding. It was a struggle just to get him to sit up. When a nurse had asked Johnny to sign a paper, he was unable to grasp the pen and it fell to the floor. He said that he was feeling better, but his appearance and lab work said otherwise.

Roy shifted his feet, "Look, I have to go, but ah, you hang in there, Junior. I'll check back when I can. He headed for the door then turned around again. "Oh…wait, I forgot to tell you, a Mr. Dobson called and said that your offer on a ranch south of here was accepted and you should call him. That's pretty good news, right?"

"Yeah? Well...all right! 'Bout time...something good...happened." His breaths still puffed between just a few words. "Do a favor...for me, Roy? Call him...ask him to...come here so...I can sign? Don't wanna...miss this."

"Sure, I can call him for you. I'll do it as soon as I get back to the station, okay? I better get going."

"See ya', Pally...thanks." John said and let his head fall back. Holding it up longer than a few minutes was more than he could handle and it frustrated him to no end. Still, he began to doze, happy that at least he would soon have his ranch.


	8. Chapter 8

**A FATAL REUNION, CHAPTER EIGHT**

Carla careened into Rampart's parking lot and ground her car to a halt. She took only enough time for a deep calming breath before exiting. She firmly placed her elegant black tortoiseshell LaCoste sunglasses over her eyes and strolled purposefully toward the building. Approaching the nurse at the hospital's front desk and without removing her sunglasses, Carla asked for Johnny's room number. "In and out, Carla," she snarled under her breath, "Just give some of the soup to John, watch the fireworks for a minute or two, and get the hell out of here."

Much to her dismay, there was a steady stream of people roaming the halls and checking on John, and each time she approached his door, another person would swoop in. She was running out of ways to appear nonchalant, and though she sat casually in the waiting area nearby, she knew that soon, someone would ask why she was there. Finally, she caught sight of a petite blond candy-striper leaving Johnny's room and stopped her.

"Miss? Was Mr. Gage awake? Is it alright if I visit him?"

The shy girl was taken aback momentarily by Carla's sudden appearance in front of her. "Oh, um, h-hello, Miss. Um, Mr. Gage was resting, but I believe he's awake. I don't suppose it would hurt if you visited for a bit."

Carla purposely stole a glance at the girl's name tag. "Oh, thank you, Peggy. I won't stay long." She stepped in quietly and stayed back toward the door, checking to see if Johnny was asleep.

"Someone...here?" she heard him call softly. "You're going...to have to come closer...my eyes are blurry."

Carla altered her voice and said brightly, "Mr. Gage, it's just Peggy, your candy-striper today. I'm just looking for a clip board I think I left in here. I won't be long."

"Oh...okay," Johnny replied. "I was hoping...it was a...visitor."

"No, no, it's just me. I'll be out of your way in a moment." She craned her neck to peer over at John's face. _"Hmm…my poor darling isn't doing__ too well today." _she thought, wickedly. Then looking around the room she muttered, "This is unbelievable; I don't see that soup anywhere." She rolled her eyes, "Ugh, I suppose it's time to change tactics _again_. God, but this is getting old."

Still speaking as Peggy, Carla told Johnny she was leaving and to have a nice day. His fatigue was intensifying so John merely nodded and went back to sleep. Carla peered around the area, then ducked into the nearest ladies' room. "Dammit," she growled, as she stood inside one of the stalls, "where the hell is that soup I brought? What could they have done with it?" She rocked slightly on her heels, chewed on her upper lip and wrung her hands, trying to think of her next move. "Why is this going so wrong? I never had problems like this in New York! Johnny, you are going to pay for using me, just like all the others did...you _will_ pay...I _will_ figure this out." After a few more minutes, she smiled, "Oh yes...perfect! I know exactly what I'll do!"

She silenced herself when she heard the stall door next to hers open and close and she stepped from her impromptu hiding place. Carla stood before the large mirror, digging around in her large handbag for her brush and a few hair pins. She tidied her hair, sleeking it back into an elegant bun and pinned it tight. She smoothed on a fresh cover of lipstick and replaced her sunglasses. Smiling at her own face, she felt much more composed and strolled toward the elevator. Relieved that no one was around for the time being, she pressed the button which would take her to the cafeteria.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

As Roy and Paul drove back to the station, Roy sat quietly mulling things over, and felt somewhat like he was coming down with something. He was really glad Johnny was going to get his ranch, but he was becoming concerned that John wasn't going to be well enough to enjoy it. The way Johnny's skin looked and the way his hands still shook and his vision blurred, well, Roy just hoped the hospital lab would be able to find something clue-worthy in that bag of trash. He backed the squad into the bay and he and Kendrick slid from the squad's seat. Paul noticed Roy was quiet for much of the trip back.

"Thinking about Johnny, huh?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Roy sighed as they traipsed into the kitchen. "I hope they figure this stuff out soon."

Mike and Chet walked in from outside and joined them in the kitchen. "I thought I heard the squad coming back," Chet said and spotting Roy, he sat down next to him with an accusing stare. "Alright, Roy, spill it. _Why _didn't you tell me Johnny's date was with Carla Culver?"

Roy gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Paul offered him and deliberately took a long sip before answering an impatient Chet. "Hm, maybe because I didn't _know _it was Carla Culver; at least not until she showed up at the hospital, anyway. How did you know her last name?" Roy asked.

"She called here and she told me who she was," Chet informed him. "She wanted to talk to Johnny; said she'd _looove_ to see him again," he snickered. "How a goof like Gage snagged a date with one of the hottest models that ever lived is beyond me."

"Yeah, she's pretty, I guess," Roy shrugged, "but she came off as kind of snooty if you ask me. Now that I think about it, I wonder how she knew Johnny was at Rampart."

"Um, I _told _her. She wanted to talk to Johnny, but I told her he was out sick and in the hospital. And wait…she's _pretty_?" Chet said, stunned at Roy's rather unenthusiastic description of Carla, "Roy, Carla Culver is not pretty, she's phenomenal! There's not another woman on the planet that can compare! She's amazing, she's gorgeous, she's rich, she's famous, she's…she's…"

"She's dating Johhhnny," Marco sing-songed.

Mike snorted a laugh as Chet shot Marco a disgusted look. "Yeah, well, I guess that means she's also pretty dim." Then he looked up with a grin, "That makes her _perfection_ in my book!"

"Shut up, Chet." Roy, Marco, Mike and Paul said in unison.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla kept to herself and pretended to look for something in her purse, effectively avoiding making too much eye contact with anyone in the elevator. She soon found her way to the cafeteria by following a pair of nurses whom she had overheard discussing a much needed coffee break. She perused the selection of foods on display under the glass and wrinkled her nose. "Pathetic. Whomever came up with the menu for this garbage dump should be flogged. Some sort of meat with an unidentifiable gravy, over-cooked vegetables and good lord...is that Jello?" She eyeballed the entire smorgasbord with a disgusted frown, searching for something that would do. Then her eyes brightened- perfect! Rice pudding!"

She smiled a lovely and completely insincere smile at the hairnet-coiffed woman who frowned at her from behind the serving counter. "Whaddya' have?" the woman asked, gruffly.

"Oh, I'll just take a small dish of that delicious looking rice pudding over there," Carla pointed.

The woman curled up one side of her mouth as she stepped over and retrieved the pale yellow dish of rice pudding. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you, this will be just perfect," she told her.

The woman shrugged and handed over the dessert. "Thirty-five cents."

Carla fished the coins from her handbag and took the pudding. She sat at the table furthest from any prying eyes and placed her purse on the chair next to her. She glanced around, then slyly removed the paper sack containing the tiny dices of mushroom. She sprinkled them into the pudding and stirred it thoroughly. "Looks good enough to eat!" she cackled softly.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

As the day went on, Roy began to feel increasingly unwell. He'd already taken several trips to the latrine thinking he might vomit, but hadn't yet. When he began to feel sweaty and disoriented, he thought he should be checked out and went to find Paul. He was crossing the truck bay, heading toward the kitchen, when he felt a wave of dizziness. He stopped short and grasped the steel bars that ran the length of the squad. He shook his head to clear it and was vaguely dismayed when that didn't help. His stomach was aching and gurgling and he was suddenly having a hard time staying on his feet. His mind was quickly becoming fuzzy and his eyes wept of their own accord. He again felt the need to vomit and stumbled into the latrine, barely making it to the commode before he started retching and heaving uncontrollably. His heart was racing and he felt weak and shaky.

"H…help…me…" Roy choked out, "Paul?...M-Marco?...help…" Roy crawled to the sinks and tried to hoist himself up. He grabbed the faucet for leverage but it slid from his grasp when the handle turned. Roy lost his balance and fell forward, hitting his head on the corner of the sinks with a loud crack. He lost consciousness and slumped to the floor, his head bleeding.

Mike, Chet, Marco and Paul all sat around the table, and Paul told them how he thought Roy seemed a little 'off' since returning from Rampart. Mike nodded- he knew Roy was concerned about Johnny's health, but there just seemed to be something else. He mulled it around in his head for a bit, then stood up. "Maybe he'd like to play a little basketball to relax," he told the others. "Marco, how 'bout it?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll play- I think Cap's still working on those reports, though, don't know if he'll join in. Paul? Chet? You guys in?"

"Sounds good," Chet said, standing up. "I'll go get the court warmed up. C'mon, Kendrick!"

"Ha! You mean get the bench warmed up, Kelly!" Marco laughed.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll see about that, Lopez. I'll show you how the game is played!"

Mike wandered from the truck bay to the dorms and not finding Roy, he figured DeSoto might be in the latrine, but hesitated to go in. He stood near the doorway and called out, "Roy? You in there? We're gonna start a basketball game; you want to join us?"

He listened, but heard nothing except for water running from the faucet. Deciding Roy wasn't in there after all, he entered the latrine to turn off the faucet and found Roy lying on the floor.

"Paul! Help!" Mike shouted. "Marco! Cap! Somebody!"

Marco came skidding into the latrine and saw Stoker with his arms wrapped around Roy's shoulders, and looking around for assistance. He bent down to help and the two men lay Roy down on the cold tile floor. His skin was grey and mottled and his limbs trembled slightly.

"I'll get Paul!" Marco yelled. He ran for the kitchen where Paul and Chet were just coming in from the basketball court. "Paul! Roy's sick; he's in the latrine.

Cap poked his head out of his office when he heard Mike shouting. "Cap!" Marco yelled as he ran through the truck bay, "call an ambulance!"

Cap ran to the phone as Paul Kendrick followed Marco back to the latrine. Roy was semi-conscious now and his head rolled from side to side as he groaned loudly.

"Roy? Calm down for me, okay? Can you tell me what happened?" Paul asked.

"S…sick…" he moaned. "Sick…like Johnny."

Paul wrapped the BP cuff around Roy's arm and Marco opened a 4x4 and placed it on Roy's head wound. Mike grabbed the biophone and opened a line to Rampart. Roy's blood pressure was 110 over 74, his pupils slightly constricted and his pulse was racing. Dr. Early instructed Paul as he started an I.V. on Roy and placed him on oxygen. Relief washed over the crew when the ambulance arrived and the attendants rushed in with the stretcher. Chet and Mike helped to lift Roy up and over, and Marco tossed the equipment in the back. Paul jumped in and the remaining crew members watched as the ambulance sped away.

"Ah mi dios, that came on fast," Marco said quietly.

Cap blew out a breath. "Yeah, that it did. I'll uh, stand down the squad until further notice, fellas. No telling when Paul will get back and no doubt it'll be a stretch to pull in another sub at this point."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla replaced the plastic wrap the rice pudding had come with and placed it gently on the bottom of her handbag. Before closing the top of her bag, she stood up and glanced down at the sweet treat and smiled. Her breaths came quicker and her heart began to pound- this was what she was waiting for...her piece de resistance! Despite all the setbacks, she knew she would now be able to feed the voices in her head that urged her to take care of this problem named John Gage. She picked up her bag and briskly made her way to John's room.

Carla strolled along, rehearsing her strategy. She'd encourage Johnny to eat the rice pudding to keep up his strength and once he'd taken enough in, he'd succumb to the poison within minutes. She'd be able to watch his suffering and demise all the while the doctors could do nothing to help. Then, she'd slip out of the room, and be free to go find the last name on her list...James.

When she got there, the halls were relatively clear. Carla stood back, clutching the red leather handbag in front of her. There was a single nurse at the desk, but once she was out of sight, Carla slipped inside and tiptoed toward Johnny's bedside.

"Jo-ohn," her voice lilted, "sweet heart, are you awake?" Gage's eyes fluttered a bit, then closed again. "John darling, can you open your eyes for me? You've rested quite awhile today."

"Hmmhh…Carla? 'Zat...you?" Johnny whispered as he woke. He was pretty sure that it was, and was happy to see her again.

"Yes, darling. How are you feeling?" she cooed, stroking his brow and smiling fondly at him. "I'm so sorry you're not feeling well. Are you getting better?"

"Well...I guess...but...Dr. Brackett is making...me think not. He wants me...to eat and I...just can't," he told her.

"I understand, darling, but if the good doctor says you need to, then you really must try." She looked around, "Did you find that soup I left for you?" she asked casually, tucking an errant stand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh...Roy brought it...to my place. He got...a little hungry...and he ate it," he said with a breathy, fragile-sounding laugh.

Carla was stunned; _this_ was not in her plans! Still…it could be a bonus. Roy would surely be ill soon and that would keep him away from Johnny's bedside. Depending on the amount Roy consumed, he should be experiencing the same terrible reaction as Johnny had. Carla's heart sped up at the thought of literally killing two birds with one stone! _"If Roy is brought to the hospital, though,..." _she muttered to herself, _"well, I'd just better make this fast." _

"Darling," she said, "You must have something to eat. I'll tell you what, I had some lunch myself while you were napping and I brought back a little dessert for you. Will you try a bite for me?"

Johnny shrugged in resignation. "Alright...you win," he told her with a half-frown, "I'll eat."

"That's more like it, darling!" She placed a hand on the side of his face, patted it gently and said, "let me get it out for you..."

Johnny smiled, nodded, and closed his eyes. Carla picked up her purse, looked back at Johnny as if to memorize his face, and then removed the bowl of rice pudding from her bag. She helped him sit up and placed an extra pillow behind his back.

"There! That's better, isn't it?" she peeped. Carla dipped the spoon into the rice pudding and smiled dazzlingly at Johnny. "You wont have to eat much, darling- just a few bites."

John's stomach was still queasy and he knew that whatever Carla had brought for him would probably not stay down, but he hoped desperately that it would at least wait until she left before it came back up. He winced when Carla brought the spoon to his lips and he saw it was rice pudding- something he normally enjoyed. Now, however, the pasty color and lumpy texture made the saliva gather in his mouth and he pursed his lips nervously as he thought of swallowing it down.

"Open wide, sweetheart!"

Johnny closed his eyes and did as he was told, accepting the spoonful of rice pudding Carla offered and ate it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A FATAL REUNION- CHAPTER NINE**

In a rare period of down time, Brackett and Early were in Kel's office poring over the books, desperate to determine what Johnny was being poisoned with. Not long after Roy left that afternoon, Dr. Brackett had been paged to Johnny's room by a nurse who noticed his muscle weakness was increasing. Johnny was now unable to lift his legs, and Kel noted the yellowish tinge to his skin was also more prominent.

When a page over the loudspeaker called Dr. Early from the office to the ER, Kel stayed behind, knowing that time was running out for Johnny and finding a treatment was at a critical point.

"Dammit!" he yelled, when the intercom interrupted his research. "What now?" It was the hospital lab with the results from the tests they had done on the trash from Gage's apartment.

"Dr. Brackett to the lab, please...stat!"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Johnny swallowed the bite of rice pudding and couldn't believe how good it tasted. He smiled with the realization that it didn't cause his stomach to quiver. He'd turned his nose up at food for the past 36 hours and was certain this little delicacy from Carla wouldn't be any different.

"Do you like it, darling?" Carla inquired with hopeful eyes.

"Um…yeah…I do, actually," he admitted. "Can I...have...another bite?

"Of course you can!" Carla squealed happily. "Here, let me help you…"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

As the ambulance containing Roy and Paul sped off for the hospital; Roy's condition deteriorated quickly and mysteriously as he continued vomiting and writhing on the stretcher. Though he was beginning to feel more disconnected with each minute that passed, he still knew that whatever was causing his misery was the cause of Johnny's as well.

"Paul…I…sick…Johnny…sick…" Roy gasped out. His eyes grew wide and panicked and he moaned with each cramp that shot through his abdomen. He swatted ineffectually at the IV and then the oxygen cannula.

"Roy, take it easy. We'll be there, soon," Paul comforted as he wiped Roy's face clean of the sweat and saliva, and placed his hand on Roy's arm. Once Roy finally quieted a bit, Paul again checked DeSoto's BP. He picked up the biophone's handset and called in his findings. "Rampart, this is Squad 51. Be advised, our patient is becoming agitated. His pulse his now 100 and BP has fallen to 100/70. Breaths are rapid and short. Patient has also vomited times four, and is developing excessive salivation."

"51, change oxygen to 15 liters by nasal cannula and administer five milligrams diphenhydramine I.V.," Dr. Early ordered. "51, what's your ETA?"

"Approximately 5 minutes, Rampart," Paul reported.

"We're standing by, 51."

In that five minute time span, Johnny had consumed another two bites of the rice pudding and decided he was full. As pleased as he was that it hadn't made him queasy, he had to admit that it didn't take much for his stomach to signal that it was done for awhile.

"No..more...Carla. I can't..."

"Oh, that's perfectly fine, darling...you don't need much," she smirked. As Johnny lay back and Carla gently dabbed at the dribbles on his chin, there was a timid knock on Johnny's door.

"Come in," Johnny tried to say. It was far too weak to be heard by anyone further away than his bed.

"_Good lord, who could that be? I certainly don't need any Nosy-Rosies right now!" _Carla growled to herself. She patted his leg and nervously got up to open the door.

Arthur Dobson pushed in, carrying a briefcase, his suit jacket and a get-well card addressed to Johnny. His graying hair was slicked over his bald spot, and his brown, horn-rimmed glasses were nearly sliding off the end of his nose.

"Mr. Gage!" he greeted loudly, straightening his glasses, "I'm so glad I had time to see you today. How are you feeling?"

"Mr. Dobson," Johnny said with a small smile, "I'm doing...alright, I guess. Uh... thanks for...coming to sign...the papers. Looks like...it might be a day...or two...before I get out of here."

Carla had no idea who this mousy little man was, but rather thought he resembled a potato in a three-piece suit. He smiled largely and shook Johnny's hand as if it were made of gold, then turned to Carla.

"Hello there, I'm Arthur Dobson, Realtor."

Not wanting this man to know her name, Carla turned him away from Johnny and smiled, "Peggy..." she told him, "Peggy Jones. Nice to meet you."

Dobson blinked and grinned at Carla, then sniffed and shoved his glasses back onto his nose and turned to place his briefcase on the bed-table, popping it open.

Carla rolled her eyes and snarled quietly, "Idiot."

Retrieving a sheaf of paperwork and a pen, Mr. Dobson asked, "Mr. Gage, are you ready to buy your lovely ranch?"

Johnny nodded and looked at Carla. "Wait until...you see it, Carla. It...sits right in ...a valley with a...house, a pond...a little barn and...ten acres! There's even room...for a horse or two."

Dobson noticed that John had called "Peggy" Carla and was bewildered. He opened his mouth to correct him, but Carla took his arm and giggled coyly, whispering an aside to him, "Oh, Mr. Dobson, with all the medication John needs, he's a little confused. He, um, sometimes calls me Carla; it's his sister's name. Just be patient with him."

"Ah, of course," Dobson whispered conspiratorially to her. He stepped closer to Johnny and spoke loudly- as if Johnny's illness included deafness as well. "Well, Mr. Gage, I have everything in order here; we can go over all the paperwork and my attorney will be meeting us here shortly to have everything notarized and legal. You won't be disappointed; the ranch is just as beautiful as when we saw it last. Prime real estate, yes in-deedy!" He spoke in rapid-fire sentences and kept up a steady string of dialogue with himself as he rooted around in the briefcase to gather everything he'd need.

Carla began to fidget and wring her hands. Dobson had to leave! Johnny was surely going to begin his slow descent soon and she wanted to be alone with him when he did! This was her victory at stake and now _another_ person would be coming in soon. Something had to be done now!

Johnny was beginning to feel very odd…like he was floating one minute then being crushed to the bed the next. His eyes refused to focus, no matter how much blinking he did, and his limbs felt as though they were encased in lead. Carla sat at the foot of Johnny's bed and he tried to catch her gaze, but his vision wavered too much. He felt his stomach start to lurch again and he began to tremble and sweat. He could feel the onset of the symptoms that had caused him so much misery the day before, but his mouth felt thick and he couldn't speak to tell anyone. Johnny's heart began to pound in his chest and he started to panic.

"Car…Carl…hel…p…" he barely managed to choke out.

Johnny's pleading fell on deaf ears and Carla merely watched as he began to shake. Her glare bounced from Dobson to Johnny and back again. She tried to will Arthur into leaving and Johnny into hurrying up and dying, but if Dobson wasn't going to leave, then she'd just have to take what she could get. She knew she was running out of time and it was imperative that she get away before anyone came in to assist. Mr. Dobson finally looked up from rummaging around in the briefcase and noticed Johnny's terrified expression and trembling limbs.

"Oh my, Mr. Gage! What's happening? Are you in need of help?" Arthur asked, frightened by what he saw.

Saliva streamed from his mouth as Johnny continued to shake and stare at Carla, confused as to why she wasn't helping him.

"I'll get a nurse!" Mr. Dobson announced, but Carla caught his arm quickly and stopped him from exiting Johnny's room.

"It's okay, Mr. Dobson, this is all part of John's recovery process," she told him with gritted teeth, "this will pass soon. He'll be fine in a moment or two, why don't you just go get a cup of coffee while this runs its course?"

Mr. Dobson wasn't at all certain if he could believe this beautiful woman who clutched his arm, but he didn't know what else to do. He started to reach for the call button on Johnny's bed, but Carla dug her nails into his skin and said angrily, "_No_, Mr. Dobson, you can't do that, either. We just need to wait for this to…end."

E!E!E!E!E!E!

As Roy was being wheeled into a treatment room, Dr. Brackett was impatiently waiting on the elevator to bring him back from the lab. He growled at it, finally decided he was not willing to wait any longer, and bounded at top speed up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He burst into the emergency area, nearly out of breath, and went in search of Dixie or Joe Early. A nurse informed him that both Dixie and Joe were in treatment three with a patient that had just been brought in. Brackett went in, and was shocked to see that the patient was Roy DeSoto.

"Joe? What's wrong with him?" Brackett asked.

Dr. Early was busily ministering to Roy, and without turning around told Kel, "He has the same symptoms as Johnny had. He's really sick, Kel." Dr. Brackett went over to Roy and saw him curled up on the exam table, drenched in sweat. Roy groaned miserably and began to vomit again.

"Joe! Listen!" Kel said, trying to get Joe's attention, "The lab found the problem! He's being poisoned by a Death Cap mushroom!"

Early whirled around, "Kel, are they sure? It's nearly impossible to detect if there isn't a mushroom to examine."

"That's the thing; there was a slice of a Death Cap in the trash Roy brought from Johnny's apartment. I don't know how Roy was exposed, but the symptoms are identical to Johnny's. Death Cap mushrooms are extremely poisonous; he needs treatment for toxicity immediately!" Kel told him.

"Dixie, get up to Johnny's room and check on him," Dr. Brackett urged. "There's a latent period in mushroom poisoning where the patient appears to be feeling better, but liver and kidney damage is being done. Johnny's waited too long to have the same kind of treatment that Roy will get. He'll need to get something more aggressive started right now! If he's showing any signs of getting worse, page me, stat!"

"I'm on my way, Kel." Dixie said, and ran to the elevator.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Arthur Dobson winced as he took his arm from Carla's grasp and noticed the slightly bloodied, half-moon marks her fingernails made in his skin. He looked at her expression and backed slowly away. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she watched Johnny in the grips of the poisoning. Her heart was pounding and she suppressed a sinister giggle_. "You only get what you deserve!" _her mind cried out_. _Dobson saw Carla clutching her purse, white-knuckled and shaking. She was concentrating on Johnny's thrashing form and didn't notice as he silently opened the door and sneaked from the room.

Arthur Dobson wasn't normally an assertive person, but he knew there was something seriously wrong with John Gage and that the woman who was with him most definitely did not have his best interests in mind.

"Nurse!" Mr. Dobson called as he ran to the desk. "Mr. Gage needs help! Now!"

The nurse looked up from the desk and was startled at how distraught Mr. Dobson appeared. Dixie came around the corner to see him and the nurse running toward Johnny's room. She picked up speed and joined them. They stormed into the room and Carla whirled around to face them, her eyes wild and glazed.

Her hands were clasped in glee as Johnny thrashed and cried out in pain. His eyes were wide with panic and despite his weakness; he slapped desperately at the bed rails. He was frightened when he tried to speak and only garbled noises escaped his lips, and then there was Carla, who stood there and refused to help him.

Dixie shouted, "What are you doing? Nurse! Get security!" Carla tried to run, but was delayed by Mr. Dobson who was determined not to let this woman escape. He, however, did not expect her to rake her nails across his face and in his surprise, let go of his grip on her arm.

She screamed like a banshee as Dixie rushed to John's side, "Nooo! Leave him alone! He has to die!"

Two security officers charged into Johnny's room and tried to hold Carla down. The adrenaline coursing through her made her crazy with rage at the men trying to stop her. "Don't you understand?" she screamed, "He has to die! He has to!" She bit one man, clawed the other's eyes, wrenched free and ran from the room.

The security guards regained their footing and chased after Carla as she careened down the hallway, shoving away anything and anyone that stood in her path. She was enraged that everything that had worked so perfectly in New York had gone so terribly wrong here in California. She finally relinquished her need to witness John Gage's death and since others had seen her, she needed to disappear immediately. If she were fortunate enough to escape the hospital, she'd leave California as soon as she could and never return.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

"Page Dr. Brackett—stat!" Dixie yelled to the nurse. Mr. Dobson looked on in shock at the state his client was in, and hurriedly stuffed all the papers into the briefcase, moving wordlessly to the back of Johnny's room. No more than a minute later, Dr. Brackett stormed in and one look at Johnny told him his condition was dire. Johnny's arms and legs trembled wildly and his eyes rolled back in his head. He was frothing at the mouth and crying in pain as the poison made its way through his already ravaged body. Dixie turned Johnny's head to the side as he began to vomit again, an action that brought burning pain to his abdomen. Now that he had actual food to vomit at the hospital, they could check it for the Death Cap mushroom, though Dr. Brackett was already certain that it was the cause. Johnny shook until finally his body gave out and he lapsed into unconsciousness and lay limp on the bed, wheezing under the oxygen mask Dixie had placed. The poison was shutting his body down.

Brackett barked orders, "As soon as possible, I want him moved to ICU. 800 mgs. Penicillin every hour and 2mgs atropine injections every half hour. Hang bilateral penicillin I.V.s wide open with lactated ringers. Get me a full blood work up and I want the liver and kidney level results back yesterday! Dixie, he needs a nasogastric tube for lavage and I want him intubated."

The nurse who had been summoned by Mr. Dobson drew blood and delivered it to the lab in person, while Dr. Brackett and Dixie performed with precision, working to save Johnny's life. Amanita poisoning was quite rare, but not completely unheard of, and Dr. Brackett silently berated himself for not even suspecting it when he first saw Johnny in the emergency room. Death Cap mushrooms were the most toxic of wild mushrooms and not even cooking would lessen their poison. Usually, the only time anyone was sickened or died from it was when they were foraging for wild mushrooms and mistook a Death Cap for another, harmless variety. In any case, there probably would have been someone who knew what had happened to that person, which would not delay treatment as it had for Johnny. Testing the vomit or blood of the victim often led to false readings and was not to be considered reliable. It was pure luck that there happened to be a slice of mushroom in Johnny's trash. However, as he observed the rate at which Johnny was going downhill, Brackett was truly worried that this time, he wouldn't be able to pull him back from the brink.


	10. Chapter 10

**A FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER TEN**

It was nearing 8:30pm and the sun had set on another searing July day. Rampart was now on lock-down - no person would be exiting without permission until Carla was found. Behind her, Carla had left a trail of shoved-aside trays, spilled vials, broken bottles and stunned people. In a fit of desperation to escape, she dived into a storage closet and huddled into herself, rocking on her heels and grinding at her tears with an angry fist. She bore little resemblance to the elegant woman who had previously visited John Gage. Her hair was a mess; she had broken the heel from one shoe, torn her skirt and her running mascara made thin black trails down her cheeks. In one hand she clutched a section of her hair that had come loose from the pins, and repeatedly jerked on it, relishing the pain it brought her, hoping it would clear her mind.

"Damn th-that stupid _man_!' she sobbed in anguish, remembering how Arthur Dobson had gotten help for Johnny despite her protests. "Another useless man ruining my life! If I were still in that room, I'd kill _him_ too!"

She dug her nails into her own arms as she tried to wrap herself into as small a presence as possible, listening for the inevitable voices she knew were coming. She breathed hard and fast, yet knowing she had to calm herself to decide her next move. Somehow, she needed to make her way back to her brother's condo to retrieve the suitcase under her bed and escape California altogether.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes again as she scanned the cold, sterile-smelling room and spotted the laundry and waste chutes used by the janitorial and housekeeping crews. She opened her purse and retrieved what was left of the mushrooms, finally ready to toss them away. "I hope you've done your job...I guess I'll never know," she mumbled through her tears. She crumpled and twisted it, taking her fury out on the small package. With a shaking hand she released it, watching it slide down the chute into the garbage bin, headed for the incinerator.

This hall featured mostly spare offices, storage rooms, Medical Records and housekeeping. On most days, this area was basically unoccupied, so she knew it wouldn't be long before they came looking for her in here. Huge boxes of supplies were stacked against one wall and, desperate for a hiding place, she began to tear them open, hoping to find one with enough room inside for her. She got as far as the third box when she looked up, startled at the sound of voices outside. When the voices came closer and the door knob rattled, she dived into the only place she could find - a rolling laundry bin filled to the top with soiled bedding.

She burrowed down deeply, covered herself up and desperately tried to control her shaking. She allowed her tears and nose to run unheeded so as not to make any sound. The stench was stomach-curdling, but she refused to give up. The security guards she had assaulted earlier entered and began searching, peering around the shelving and tossing the sheets and supplies aside and shoving boxes out of their way. They even got so close as to lift the top few layers of stained and soggy laundry away from the bin but were, fortunately or not, disgusted by the smell and the mess and put them back, sure that no one could be hiding in that filth.

Satisfied for the moment that Carla wasn't there, they left the room and messaged the others over the HT that they were moving on to the next possible hiding place.

Her chest heaved with anxious breaths. They would be back, of course, for there were few places an adult could hide on the third floor of a hospital and she was certain all the exits would be closely guarded. She dug her way free from the foul linens, crawled from the bin and peered around. She hastily wiped her face and nose, licked her lips and swallowing hard, repulsed by the slimy feel and horrid smell of the sheets she had buried herself in.

She wandered around the storage room, hoping to discover a second exit, but was disappointed. She found a small locker area which the housekeeping staff used. Carla broke off several fingernails as she clawed at the lockers, hoping to find a uniform she could use. Each one was locked tightly and Carla failed at opening any of them. She turned enough to catch sight of herself in the mirror that hung from the wall. She took in her dirty and disheveled appearance and knew there was no way at this point that she could make herself presentable enough to not arouse suspicion. She glanced at her diamond watch - the only thing left that was unmarred.

"Getting late, Carla," she grumbled quietly, "what are you going to do?"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Per Dr. Brackett's orders, Johnny was swiftly moved to the ICU. He laid on the bed, a nasogastric tube snaking down to his stomach to deliver the activated charcoal as well as to pump any remaining toxins from his body. His arms were heavily bruised from the many injections and I.V.s he needed and the ventilator was regulating his every breath. Brackett noted that if the lab results concurred with his opinion, Johnny's kidneys were already suffering. John's blood pressure was checked every 15 minutes, the pen light flicked across his eyes, and the small rubber hammer tapped on his knees repeatedly. Doctor Brackett and Dixie called his name each time they were there, and still, not once during all that was being done to save him did he revive. The once tall, strong and handsome firefighter lay pale and unresponsive, looking very much like a corpse.

Dixie leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Fight, Johnny. Fight hard. We need you back with us." She stood up, gazed at her friend for a moment, and then quietly left the room. It was time to call Station 51 and let them know what had happened.

In the E.R., Roy was receiving a similar, albeit lesser treatment, with massive doses of penicillin being one of the very few known treatments for Amanita poisoning. Roy had already received two doses of Atropine, had a nasogastric tube inserted and activated charcoal dispensed to try to absorb as much of the poison as possible. Two I.V.s were running wide open to flush as much fluid through his system as it could handle.

Fortunately, he didn't require intubation as his breathing wasn't as labored as Johnny's. Based on the differences in their reactions, Roy clearly hadn't ingested as much of the mushroom as Johnny had. Still, it was enough to send a perfectly healthy man into crisis. Joanne had been called and was now sitting by her husband's side, gently stroking his pale cheek, tears running down her face. Roy was exhausted and sedated and so slept peacefully as the treatment was administered.

"_How on earth did this happen?" _Joanne asked herself repeatedly. _"Johnny was the one who was ill the other day, not Roy. I just don't understand."_

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Dr. Brackett returned to the ICU to check on a still-unresponsive Johnny. After examining John's chart, Dr. Brackett remained very worried. Gage's blood pressure was still far too low at 70 over 50 which in turn called for a Dopamine drip - another needle puncture, another bruise.

Brackett gently picked up one of John's arms and inspected how easily each injection had caused the purplish marks to appear. Finally, he ordered the insertion of a central line just below Johnny's collarbone and another one in his jugular vein to minimize the number of needle sticks. He examined the Foley and noted the poor amount of urine output. Johnny's skin still held a slight yellowish tinge as well.

Brackett shook his head and proceeded to listen to Johnny's heart and lungs. "So much medication and treatment needed for something as unassuming as a mushroom," he muttered, dismally. He placed a hand on Johnny's arm. "John, I am so sorry I didn't even suspect mushroom poisoning." There was no reaction. "I will do everything I can to make you well...stick with us, okay?"

Dr. Early quietly opened the door. "Kel? I thought I'd find you here. Roy's coming around - I think he's doing better. How's Johnny?"

"No change, I'm afraid. Joe, there's no response, no movements; kidneys look like they're shutting down. He's getting blood and platelets and fluids, he's on penicillin, Dopamine, Atropine, the NG for suction...I don't know...it's just not looking good."

"Is there anything else that can be done?" Early asked.

"We're doing everything that's suggested by the most current research that I can find, Joe. I've put out calls to every poison center in every hospital in California for advice, but so far, I've gotten nothing back. I'll tell you, if his next set of labs and his urine output haven't improved within the hour, I'm starting dialysis on him. The team is already on standby and setting up." His voice became soft and he sighed heavily, "I just wonder if all of these interventions are still going to be too little, too late."

A nurse opened the door and stepped inside John's room. "Dr. Brackett? There's a call for you at the desk."

Kel turned to her, "Hm? Oh, yes, Libby, thank you.

He left the room and Dr. Early remained, standing near the side of Johnny's bed. "You, my friend, are giving us quite a run for our money", he told Johnny. "But you're _going_ to get better, and we're going to help make it happen."

As he turned to leave, he missed the tremble in Johnny's fingers and the slight flutter of his lashes in response to Dr. Early's promise.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Dr. Brackett punched a finger on the button of the phone. "Dr. Brackett," he answered.

"Kel, it's Mike Morton. Listen, I heard about Gage and DeSoto. I know a Dr. Marquardt at St. Francis' who's also an herbologist. This guy's been doing extensive research on poisonings and he's created an infusion made from Milk Thistle that's showing good results in Europe at neutralizing the toxicity of the Death Cap. It's not used much here in the U.S. yet, but Dr. Marquardt feels his treatment might be quite helpful. I think we should get him here."

"You know, Mike, at this point, I'm even willing to call in a witch doctor if I thought it would save his life. Everything that we know to try isn't working well enough to give me any confidence."

"I think it's a good idea, Kel, I really do. I'll go give Dr. Marquardt a call."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Unhappy that there was nothing for her to use as a credible disguise, Carla decided she would just have to be more aggressive. She took the mirror from the wall and placed it on a folded sheet on the floor. She lay another across the top of it and stepped firmly on it. She smiled when she heard the satisfying crunch of the glass breaking. She peeled away the top sheet and picked up a large piece of the silvery shards.

"_This will do nicely...should I need it,"_ she thought.

She removed her shoes and examined the one with a broken heel. There was no way to fix it, so she snapped the heel from her other shoe to make a matching pair. "Can't run with just one!" she giggled. Finally, she opened the door ever-so-slightly and peeked out. The hallway was empty, but distantly, she could hear the crackle of the HTs and the hushed buzz of voices and footsteps. It was now or never.

She tiptoed to the opposite side and slithered up near the windows. It was completely dark outside now and she flattened herself against the cool glass. Assured that no one was coming for the time being, she wiggled hopefully at the window latch and gasped with pleasure when it unlocked. As she open the pane, the heated air from outside rushed in, making a whishing sound as it blew though her hair. In one hand was the shard of glass from the mirror and with the other, Carla pulled herself out onto the ledge. Once she had gained purchase there, the window suddenly slammed shut behind her, effectively locking Carla out of the building. She scraped at it with her fingers, but the surface was smooth from the outside - no way to pry the window open. She was free...and yet still captive.

From down the hall, the smack of the window as it closed alerted the security guards and the police officers. They bolted toward the sound and checked each window on the way, to see which one had been opened. When they came to the unlatched one that Carla had used, an officer drew his gun while the other placed his palm on the glass and opened it.

Carla stood on the ledge, and without a sure way to escape, her desperation intensified. The hazy glare from the security lights allowed her to see the outlines of the construction scaffolding that stood nearby. She scanned her surroundings and decided that if she could make her way along the ledge about six windows further, she could step out on to the scaffolding, climb down and make her escape...or at the very least find a better hiding spot.

She turned abruptly when she heard the window opening once more and knew without waiting to see, that it was the police. Unless she was very, very lucky, it would be merely a matter of seconds before they found her. She pressed her body against the side of the building and slid herself as far as she could, inching ever closer to the scaffolding.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Joanne exited Roy's treatment room and slowly walked toward the waiting area. After leaving Mr. Dobson in Brackett's office, Dixie had returned to her post and looked up in time to see Jo passing by. She approached her and took Joanne's hands in hers and asked quietly, "Joanne? How are you doing?" She could see that Jo had been weeping.

"I'm alright…Roy's resting…he'll be moved to a room soon. I…I needed to walk around and stretch a little, I suppose. Thank you so much for...just...for just..." She paused a bit, then said, "Oh, Dixie…I just don't understand. Roy called and told me Johnny was sick enough the other night that he thought he should stay there with him, but we both thought it was a bout with a stomach bug. How on earth could they both be poisoned by a _mushroom_?" She began twisting the leather strap on her purse nervously. "I don't...I don't even know where it would have come from, anyway. Mushrooms aren't really something I would think Johnny would keep on hand, you know? He's not exactly a gourmand," she said, sniffling and wiping her tired, red-rimmed eyes.

Dixie chuckled just a little, "Yes, our boy lives quite the bachelor lifestyle, doesn't he."

Joanne wilted a little and Dixie wrapped a comforting arm around Jo's back. Joanne looked at her friend with tears threatening to fall again. "Dr. Early said it looks pretty good for Roy since he was treated so quickly after getting sick, but…it's been over two days for Johnny. What if it's too late for him?"

"Joanne, I'm not going to lie and tell you everything will be fine, but you do know that Dr Brackett never gives up without a fight...and neither will John." She smiled at Jo, "It's pretty late, but I was just going to give Hank Stanley a call and update him. How about you come with me and we'll get a cup of coffee together."

"That sounds lovely, Dixie, thanks," Jo said, taking a deep breath. "I could use the boost, I think." She steeled herself once more, determined to keep it together for her husband...and herself. The two women made their way to the doctors' lounge so Dixie could speak with Hank in private.

It was closing in on eleven pm, and Mike was the last one to head to bed after a late night trash fire. He was a bit startled by the ringing phone as he walked past.

"Station 51, Fireman Stoker speaking."

"Mike? It's Dixie McCall. May I speak with Captain Stanley, please?"

"Sure, Miss McCall, I'll get him for you."

Hank had just leaned back into his pillows and closed his weary eyes when Mike told him it was Dixie on the line. Hank leaped from the bed and scrambled to the phone, hoping against hope that it wasn't bad news. The others weren't asleep yet either and sat up in their bunks for a moment.

"If it's Dixie, it's news about Gage and DeSoto," Chet said, unnecessarily, "I'm going in there." He pulled on his bunkers and went into the kitchen.

Marco looked at Paul and Mike, then shrugged. "Let's go."

Hank wasn't really all that surprised when he found his crew huddled around him and the phone, waiting to hear what Dixie had to say. After just a few minutes - which seemed agonizingly long to the men - Hank hung up and turned to face them.

"Fellas, good news and bad news..."


	11. Chapter 11

******FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER ELEVEN**

When Cap hung up, four anxious pairs of eyes scrutinized his expression for any news. "Uh, fellas, I guess you know that was about Roy and John," Cap told them. "Dixie said Roy's getting some pretty intense treatment, but he's likely going to be okay, given some time." Cap sighed and pursed his lips, "John...he, uh...he's not doing so good. His kidneys are shutting down and Dr. Brackett has started him on dialysis. He's, ah...not responding to any sounds or stimuli. It's...well, Miss McCall said we might want to come in as soon as our shift is over."

Chet's blue eyes widened in shock and he swallowed hard, "Cap? Gage...he...he's not gonna die, is he?"

"I don't know, pal,...but honestly, it doesn't sound too good." He turned and looked at all the men. "If any of you are the praying type, I think a few sent in the direction of Rampart tonight certainly wouldn't hurt. I'm planning on going over there as soon as shift is over if anyone else wants to come along."

"Count me in, Cap," Marco told him.

"Me too, Cap," Mike added.

"Yeah...I wanna go too," Chet whispered hoarsely.

"I, uh, I don't know Gage all that well really," Paul Kendrick said quietly, "so maybe I'll give you guys a chance to visit first. Would that be okay?"

"Perfectly fine, Paul; I'm sure John would understand," Cap told his temporary crew member. "How about we all try to get a little shut-eye if the good citizens of Carson will let us, eh? I have a feeling it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

The "good citizens" had other things in mind however, and shortly after the men returned to their beds, the tones dropped again, calling them to a garage fire. None of them had slept anyway, and they bounded from their bunks to the waiting engine, silently grateful for the distraction.

"Station 51, structure fire, twenty-nine ninety-six, Arlington, two-nine-nine-six, Arlington. Time out eleven-fifty-eight."

"Station 51, KMG-365"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Carla slid against the grainy exterior of Rampart, and felt her blouse snag and tear a little in response to the rough texture. ___"Only two more windows, Carla, then you can just step out..." _Her ankle rolled a little and she stumbled, grabbing the edge of the window-well to keep from falling. She gasped louder than she intended when she glimpsed the parking lot so far below her. "Just keep going, Carla," she told herself shakily, "just a little further..."

The window she had exited suddenly opened and an officer stuck his head out, looking to the left down the ledge, trying to spot their wayward fugitive. He saw nothing. Looking to the right, he was pretty sure he caught sight of ___something_...was that a skirt or perhaps a person's leg he saw? He pulled back in.

"Mason, I think she's out on the ledge, over to the right. Get the police on the ground in the parking area and have another team meet her at the windows down the other end of this hall. Then come back here with me; I'm gonna go out after her."

"Right. I'm on it," his security partner replied and turned away to pick up his HT.

"We need a security team to floor three, we may have her sighted on the ledge. Send police back-up to the parking lot on the north side by the construction scaffolding."

A voice responded in the affirmative and Officer Mason returned to the window. "You see her, Jack?"

"I think so. I can see something or someone moving a few windows down from here. How much longer till the other team gets up here?"

"Shouldn't be long; you gonna go out there now?"

"Yeah. If I pen her in on this side and the second team blocks the other window, we'll have her cornered."

The officer stepped out on to the ledge and flicked on his flashlight, panning it down the side of the building as far as it could go. There! He saw her foot turn and Carla stumble. "Sweetie, I don't know where you think you're gonna go way out here," he mumbled, "but I intend to make sure you don't get there."

He backed up against the side of the building and moved along the ledge slowly. When he got within ten feet of the woman, he called out, "Ma'am?" He heard her suck in a breath. "Ma'am, stop where you are."

Carla was _so _close to the scaffolding..._so _close...just a few more steps... She had to reach out to grab the nearest bar, but her left hand still held the mirror shard. Thinking she may yet need the piece to defend herself, she quickly pulled up her skirt and tucked the silvery segment into the thigh band of her stockings. She patted it and smiled.

_"____Not going to give up yet, officer. My little secret helper here could so some real damage if I need it to," __s_he snarled under her breath.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Joanne held Roy's hand and ran a finger over the calluses and old scars she saw, then cupped his unfeeling hand around her face. "Oh, Roy..." She kissed his forehead and nuzzled to his shoulder, closing her eyes with a sigh.

Presently, Roy began to breathe a bit faster. He blinked slowly and tried to focus his eyes. Joanne felt him stir and raised her head, "Roy? Honey, can you hear me? Sweetie, c'mon, wake up a little more; you're almost there," she encouraged.

Joanne's voice sounded tinny and far away, but Roy was trying so hard to wake up to see her face. It seemed an eternity before he finally did. He tried to swallow and felt the NG tube that had been slid down his throat. Groggily, he tried to speak his wife's name as the sedation began to wear off.

"Jo…Jo…anne?" He still felt queasy, weak and confused. He felt her hand grip his a little tighter and he relaxed a bit. _"____Where...am I?"_he wondered. _"____Why do...I feel...so awful?" _He tried to lick his lips but his tongue felt fuzzy and thick. "Wa…'er?" he pleaded.

"Here, baby, here's some ice chips. Let me help you." Joanne wrapped her arm around Roy's back and gently placed a few ice chips on his tongue. Roy felt such relief as the ice melted and soothed his raw throat. Joanne slowly let him lie back and smoothed his hair. "I'll go get Dr. Early, honey. I'll be right back, I promise."

Roy began to fret a little as he saw his wife stand to leave, "Jo?" he said in a small, gravelly voice. "Jo? Please…stay…"

She quickly returned to his side and picked up his hand again. "It's okay, Roy; I'll stay. Dr. Early will be right back; we'll just wait. Don't worry," she crooned softly to her frightened husband. She sat back down and felt him sigh and relax when she placed her warm hand on the side of his face.

Soon, the door swung open, squeaking just slightly, and Dr. Early entered. He smiled when he saw Roy blinking up at Joanne. "Hello there, Roy. It looks like our star patient has reached the surface, eh? How are you feeling?" He walked over and placed his stethoscope to Roy's chest. "Joanne? Has he had any trouble?"

"No, I don't think so, Dr. Early, but he's still rather confused. He wasn't too excited about me leaving to find you just now."

"Hmm, well, his sedation was fairly light, but it'll still make things pretty fuzzy for a while yet. I think much of the confusion can be blamed on the whack he took to his head when he passed out at the station. Once that resolves itself, his brain will be less foggy, I'm sure."

Joe picked up Roy's chart and looked it over. "Looks like his blood work has greatly improved; very little poison residue in the results this last time. It's working its way out of his system...the penicillin and activated charcoal we gave him are both doing their jobs, it seems. Still, I'd like to keep him a day or two yet to make sure his BP stays steady and the blood work stays clean. Keeping him on oxygen should help him perk up as well. Given a little more time, I think you'll see a vast improvement."

He put down the chart and sat on the end of the bed. "Now, Roy, Joanne, I will warn you that a few side effects with Amanita poisoning may or may not make themselves known. With the reading I've done on this, it sounds like Roy may have gotten treatment soon enough to avoid them, but if they do occur, they likely won't be long-lasting."

"Doc?" Roy asked, sleepily, "what...si' effecs? Wha'...hap'end?"

Early turned to face the bewildered paramedic. "Roy, you ate something tainted with a very toxic Death Cap mushroom. Now, we're not sure where you got it from, but fortunately, you got here in time for prompt treatment. The side effects I mentioned mostly include muscle weakness in the extremities, some fuzziness with memory, some lasting stomach sensitivity, but nothing I've read leads me to think it will be permanent."

Jo gripped Roy's hand a little tighter when she felt him sag into the bed with despair. Though he was wonderful to her and the kids when they were ill, he was not a patient man when it came to his own recovery. This wasn't going to be easy.

She took a deep breath and let it go, knowing that yet again, she needed to be the iron-willed fireman's wife. She had been so close to losing not only her husband, but also his best friend, and it seemed that Johnny was still not out of the woods. She had spoken with Dixie again earlier and sadly, was told that Gage's condition was going downhill. While Roy had continued to sleep, Joanne shed tears and prayed for their friend to hang on.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Arlington wasn't far and within minutes, the engine pulled up in front of a tidy gray house. Smoke rose from behind the detached, single-car garage. They were met by a frantic young man of about seventeen with curly red hair and a rather poor excuse for a beard.

"Oh man, you guys gotta save that garage! I'm only house-sitting for my dad's boss - I didn't mean to start a fire! Oh, god - my old man's gonna kill me!"

"Okay, calm down, son. How did this start?" Captain Stanley asked.

"I...I was just smoking a...a cigarette out back, ya' know?" He looked around nervously, as if his father might show up at any moment. "I don't smoke much, ya' know...I just, I started coughin' real bad and I dunno, I must have tossed it when I grabbed my drink. Next thing I know, the garage wall is on fire, man!"

"Kelly, Lopez, take an inch-and-a-half around back. Kendrick, you and I are going to take reel lines through the front. Son? There any vehicles inside?"

"Y-Yeah..." His eyes lit up with realization. "Oh my god! My dad's boss has a coupla' classic motorcycles in there...ohhh, ___he's _gonna kill me, too!"

Marco and Chet grabbed the hose and ran behind the garage and Stoker got the pumps running. Before Paul and Cap could unwind the reel lines, there was a small explosion from inside the structure.

With a loud gasp, the boy charged around to the back of the building with Kendrick in pursuit. "Wait!" Paul called,"son, you can't go back there!"

Cap picked up the mic, "L.A., Engine 51. There's been an explosion. I need a second alarm at this address!"

The alarms sounded and Cap's eyes followed Kendrick as he raced after the young man.

Chet was taken by surprise when the boy charged around the corner and shoved him out of the way. "The bikes!" the boy yelled, "I gotta get 'em out of there!"

Chet dropped the hose and ran inside after the boy, with Marco and then Kendrick following. The boy fought them wildly, kicking and flailing his arms, screaming, "I gotta get the bikes! They're worth a fortune!"

Marco and Paul had grabbed the boy's arms and legs and were hauling him outside when the boy kicked hard enough for one foot to hit Chet square in the face. He stumbled back a bit, then became angry with the fighting boy.

"Kid, get away from here and sit down!" Kelly yelled. "We'll do everything we can, but you have to stay out of our way!"

Marco ran up to Chet, who was squinting his left eye and wincing with pain. A thin line of blood trickled from Kelly's nose. "Chet? You okay?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. Kid clobbered me with his shoe, is all," he groaned.

Two guys from the second crew came around the side, hauling hoses. The sobbing young man collapsed to his knees, wailing, "The bikes...I'm dead meat...Dad's gonna _kill_ me..."

Chet rolled his eyes, annoyed with the boy's behavior. He grabbed the wailing teenager by the arm and escorted him back to the engine. The second assignment had arrived and was swiftly dousing the rest of the garage.

"Kelly?" Cap said, taking a peek at Chet's rapidly swelling eye and bloodied nose, "Looks like you've got yourself a shiner starting there. Anything else going on?"

"Nah, just a headache, Cap. I'm okay," Chet insisted.

"Get it checked out anyway, okay? When we get back to the barn, have Marco take you to Rampart in the squad."

"Right, Cap."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

From where she stood, Carla could make out the form of the security officer climbing out of the window and sliding down the ledge toward her. The distance between them was enough that if she could just get out to the scaffolding... Despite being pursued, Carla still envisioned herself gracefully descending the scaffolding and making her getaway. She was startled when from the right, a second window opened and another officer stepped out on to the ledge. She knew she needed to get on the scaffolding- now! She looked down and faltered just a bit when she spotted the police officers waiting for her below.

"Noooo..." she mewled quietly, "no, no, noooo! I don't fail, I _don't _lose, this won't happen!" She swung her foot to the bars and chose to climb _up_ rather than down, thinking she could gain access to the roof. The officers both made their way to the scaffolding and followed her as she shakily ascended.

The wind was stronger the higher she climbed, and it blew her loose hair into her eyes. Without thinking, Carla let go with one hand to sweep her tresses from her face and she slipped. She hit her cheekbone and lip on one bar and cried out in pain. She tasted blood in her mouth from the impact and shook her head, spitting out the frothy red liquid. Still determined to escape, she continued to climb upward.

An officer only a short distance away, grabbed toward Carla's foot, but she pulled it from his grasp. Again the wind blew and Carla was momentarily blinded, tearing at her hair and screaming in anger as it danced in her line of sight. She looked up, trying to see how close she was to the next floor and darkly, she realized that she would run out of scaffolding long before she reached the fourth floor, much less the roof.

When she felt a tap on her foot from the officer behind her, Carla finally, _finally_ realized there was nowhere left to run. She slid over to the right side of the construction frame, looked back at the officer in pursuit and hissed, "I won't run any longer, but _you__..._you disgusting man_, __will ____not _take me." Then she smiled serenely and let go.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

In his room in the ICU, Johnny continued to receive every treatment the doctors at Rampart were able to give him, yet remained unresponsive. The ventilator made its familiar "pop-hiss", as it regulated his breathing, the heart monitor beeped out a rhythm and there were tubes and wires and that had him surrounded. If he had been aware of any of it, Johnny might have even joked about resembling a space-alien's experiment. As it was, John Gage was the only silent one in the room and his stillness was unnerving to anyone who knew him when he was well.

He was now receiving dialysis on top of everything else and until there was some sign that he was responding to the treatment, it appeared that he was merely hanging on. He remained in a comatose state, never responding to light, sound or pain.

Dr. Brackett and Dr. Morton were in the hospital's lab with Dr. Marquardt, watching as he mixed the infusion of milk thistle, making it ready for Johnny. Dr. Marquardt's lifelong dedication to research was inspiring, and Kel was gratified by the doctor's confidence, yet felt in his heart that this milk thistle elixir was truly a last resort.

"There." Dr. Marquardt finally said, holding a beaker of cloudy solution up to his eyes, "I believe it's ready to go. Shall we give it a try?"

Dr. Brackett nodded and said, "Gentlemen, this needs to help him; we have no other options at this point. We may not even have time on our side."


	12. Chapter 12

**Fatal Reunion Chapter Twelve**

Chet sat limply in his seat, his right hand grasping the bar as he rode back to the station. His head was really beginning to pound, keeping rhythm with the thump-thump-thump he felt in his cheek, lip and nose. There must have been a thousand pot holes in the pavement and if Chet didn't know him any better, he'd swear Mike was aiming for them. By the time they arrived and Mike had backed the engine into the bay, Kelly's face ached more than he could ever remember.

He dismounted the engine, shucked his turnouts and trudged in to the locker room, flopping wearily to the bench. A curious Paul peered over to him, then knelt down in front.

"Kelly? You alright?"

"Uh, yeah..." he said wearily, "my, uh, face, uhm, my face hurts though. Kid's foot had a hell of an uppercut."

Paul lifted Chet's chin and winced when he saw the bloodied lip and how swollen Chet's cheek and nose were becoming. "You know, I think this should be checked out. Didn't Cap tell you to have Marco bring you to Rampart?"

"Uh, yeah, he did. I...I'll go get him..." Chet stood up and wavered a little.

Paul caught him by the elbow, and eased him back to the bench. "You know what? I think _I'd_ better check you out, pal. We might be making a little change of plans."

Kendrick patted the downed fireman on the shoulder. "Be right back, Chet," he said, and trotted into the bay to fetch the equipment from the squad. He returned to find Chet lying down on the bench, one arm slung across his chest, the other hanging off the side.

"Hey, Paul?" Chet groaned.

"Yeah?"

"Can you take me to Rampart now?"

"Sure thing, Kelly," Paul said with a slight smile, "I'll go tell Cap we're leaving."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

"Oh, god! No!"

The officer lunged toward Carla as she fell, then stood frozen, watching in horror as her body hurtled to the parking area below, striking the scaffolding's bars on the way down like a child's rag doll tossed from a jungle gym. The spotlights the police had trained on her as she climbed, now silently documented her nightmarish descent.

Onlookers in the parking area shrieked in panic and most of them turned away, not wanting to witness Carla's fall. She landed almost directly under the scaffolding and as emergency personnel charged toward her, sure they were retrieving a corpse, they stopped in shock when Carla Culver lifted her head and looked up at them.

Blood pooled around her body, as Carla's fingers raked at the pavement. She tried to speak, but her mouth only gasped, opening and closing in a futile attempt to make still more demands. She coughed and bright red spattered the ground. She stared at the blood, unaware that it was still pouring from her mouth. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her shattered ribs had pierced her lungs and the mirror shard she had hidden under her skirt for self-defense had pierced her femoral artery. Her blood flowed over the pavement as Dr. Morton ran to her side and knelt there, trying his best to gain victory in a an un-winnable war. It wasn't more than a few seconds later, however, that Carla Culver bled to death.

She was pronounced dead at the scene and a thin white sheet was pulled over her once-lovely face. Her body was wheeled through the crowd of onlookers and the mob of newsmen popping flashbulbs, into the Emergency Department, just as Chet and Paul were driving into the parking lot.

The flashers from the police cars and the spotlights from three news vans lit up the night and Paul gave a long, low whistle as he pulled the squad into the last spot near the ER. "Holy cow, what's going on here?"

Chet was resting his head against the cool of the window's glass. "Hm?" he asked through his swollen lips. "What's happenin'?"

"Beats me, but it must be something big. Half a dozen cop cars, a bunch of news vans...whew!" He paused to look over at Chet in the dim light of the squad's interior. "You ready to go in?"

"Yeah... let's go."

The hospital had an odd aura, the guys noticed. Chet looked at Paul who only shrugged in wonder. Nurses and aides whispered between themselves; in fact, everyone spoke quieter and seemed to wander around in mix of shock and melancholy. A suicide at the hospital had never happened before and that it was witnessed by so many left everyone there with heavy hearts.

Carol exited Treatment Two and blew out a heavy breath. Carla's mangled body was in there, covered by a sheet, left alone now to wait for someone to come and claim her.

Nurse Carol wandered over to Chet and Paul who had just approached the desk. "Hi, guys, what can I help you wi- oh, Chet!" She gently placed her hands on his chin and turned it to face her, inspecting the bloodied nose, swollen eye and lips, and bruised cheek. "What on earth happened to you?"

"Oh, uh, panicky kid at a fire kicked me in the face," Chet mumbled. "Feels like he used a two-by-four." Paul stood to the side and chuckled lightly.

"Uh-huh. You know, it kind of even _looks_ like he used a two-by-four, my dear. Let's get you into a room and I'll get a doctor to look at it," Carol crooned.

Chet looked around at the somber faces of the staff. "Carol, what's the deal? What's got everyone all rattled?"

"Oh, well, you could say we had some excitement tonight. A lady jump- er, _fell_ from the scaffolding a little while ago. As you can probably imagine, it didn't end well," she sighed sadly.

"Yeah?" Paul asked, stunned. "Whoa, who was she? Anybody we know?"

"Oh, I don't suppose, Paul. I was told she was a former model from New York. A Carla somebody," she shrugged.

Chet froze in his tracks. "Carol?" he squeaked out, "Was it...Carla Culver, maybe?"

"I really don't know for sure, Chet, why? Did you know her?"

"Kind of. I mean, no, _I_ didn't...but Johnny did; he was _dating_ her. Holy cow, he's gonna flip out. Wait...why was she here at this time of night."

"Well, I don't believe she wasn't in the best frame of mind, Chet," she hedged. "Maybe Doctor Morton can help you out more than I can. I'll go see if I can find him. Sit tight."

She guided Chet to the exam table and left for only a minute or so when she returned with Dr. Morton in tow. Before Mike could even get a word out, Chet blurted, "Doctor Morton? Did Carla Culver die?"

"Well, that's a fine greeting, Mr. Kelly," Morton answered airily, "I'm fairly certain that's not what brought you here." He examined Chet's face, tsk-ing with each tap of a finger on a bruised area. "Hmm...did you lose consciousness or vomit at all, Chet?"

"Naw, just saw some serious stars for a while, is all."

Paul countered, "He was a little light back at the station, Doctor Morton; kind of woozy."

"Well, I'm going to order some x-rays of that orbital area and cheekbone. I don't think they're fractured, but I'd like to be certain. Looks like you might need a couple of stitches in that lip, too. Carol, let's get our friend an ice pack and let him sit with that for a bit. Once the swelling goes down, we'll sew him up."

"Yeah, okay," Chet said impatiently, "c'mon, Doc, you never answered my question. Did Carla Culver die here tonight?"

Morton sighed heavily. "Yes, Chet, she did. I don't know exactly why, but she was being pursued by the hospital security teams and climbed out on the construction scaffolding. She fell nearly four stories. She was mortally wounded and died before I could...well...she died _almost_ instantly."

Chet tried to whistle, but his swollen lips wouldn't allow it. Instead he shook his head, "Whoa...that's heavy. Wonder why they were chasin' her?"

"I believe Miss McCall knows more about the 'why' than I do, Chet. If you see her, perhaps you can ask then. In the meantime, I'll go order your x-rays."

Chet turned to Paul. "Looks like I might be here a while. Maybe you should go back to the station and tell Cap I'll call when someone can come get me, okay?"

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." He slapped Chet on the back. "You hang in there bruiser, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, Kendrick; I appreciate it."

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

In Johnny's room, Dr. Brackett and Dr. Marquardt were readying the I.V. of milk thistle. Kel had examined Johnny once again and there had been no positive changes at all. If anything, his sallow skin and rising liver enzyme levels, indicated increasing damage. The somber mood of the room lifted for a few moments as Dr. Marquardt added the I.V. to the central line below Johnny's collarbone. Both men watched as the milky fluid made its way down the tubing and into the vein of their comatose patient. Dr. Marquardt stood back and quietly cleared his throat.

"Kel," he said softly, "I have good faith in this infusion; I have seen the successful results myself. However, the large amount of toxin in his system could still easily overwhelm it. We'll be running these IVs back to back with no break for at least eight to ten hours, but I want you to be aware that if John doesn't show some sign of improvement within that time frame, he will most likely succumb to the poison."

Dr. Brackett nodded solemnly, "I understand, Ken. Thank you."

Now came the worst part of all: waiting.

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

Chet's x-rays confirmed nothing was broken, but two butterfly bandages decorated his cheek bone and two stitches were in his bottom lip. Thanks to some painkillers, he looked decidedly worse than he felt. Carol offered Chet another ice pack and the couch in the staff room where he could wait for someone from the station to come fetch him. As he was headed toward the lounge, he saw Dixie entering an unoccupied treatment room and followed her.

"Miss McCall!" Chet called, but Dixie didn't hear him. He paused outside the treatment room to be sure no one was inside, then opened the swinging wooden door. Inside was Dixie...and Carla Culver's body.

Chet backed away, "Oh...god...I'm so sorry, Dixie, I...I didn't know...I just wanted to..." he stumbled over his words and Dixie looked at him with compassion.

"It's okay, Chet." She replaced the sheet on Carla's face and closed the chart she had been writing in.

Chet swallowed hard. "Uh...th-that's Carla Culver...isn't it?"

Dixie grimaced, "Yes, it is, Chet. Did you know her? I mean, besides that she was dating Johnny?"

Chet still stood there, staring past Dixie to the bloodied sheet-covered corpse. He whispered hoarsely, "You know, Dixie, Carla Culver was my ultimate dream woman. I never got the chance to meet her, but I spoke with her over the phone once. I guess the way it sounds now, she was a little coo-coo, huh?"

Dixie only raised an eyebrow in amusement.

He continued, "Um, can you tell me what happened? Why was she even here so late?"

Dixie wrapped her arm around Chet's shoulder and guided him toward the door. "Chet, we're pretty sure she was involved in Roy's and John's poisonings. We think she was trying to kill them."

Chet was dumbfounded. "She tried to _kill_ them? But...why?"

"We don't know why yet, Chet. We think she first tried to kill Johnny the night of their date and that's why he got sick at Roy's house," she explained. "She didn't succeed, so she tried again with some soup she brought here, but Roy ate some of it instead and that's how _he_ was sickened. Unfortunately, we found a bowl of rice pudding in John's room right after we discovered Carla in with him. It too, was tainted and we believe she fed it to John." She looked Chet in the eye, "Johnny is very, very sick, Chet. This new IV therapy he's getting...well, it really is our last hope."

Chet bowed his head in disbelief and rubbed a hand over the uninjured side of his face. "Dixie, I know this is really late, but...can I see Gage? Please?"

E!E!E!E!E!E!E!E!

It turned out that the influence of the head nurse was enough to get Chet in to visit Johnny in the ICU at five-thirty in the morning.

Dixie turned to leave. "Just a few minutes, Chet, okay?"

Chet approached John's bed, taking in all the wires, tubes, monitors and other equipment that was keeping his friend alive. There didn't seem to be a single area on him that wasn't hosting some sort of medical paraphernalia. Everything seemed to beep and boop and whoosh and click. It confounded the fireman, but still he stayed. He had something to say.

"Gage…I, uh, I don't know what all this stuff does here, but you're making me pretty nervous. I…I sure wish you'd wake up and tell me all about it." His voice began to crack as Dixie's words came back to him. "You know, Gage, if you don't get better, I'm, uh, I'm gonna be real upset with you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and chewed his upper lip. His eyes narrowed and he blinked back unshed tears.

He gulped and choked back a sob, but finally allowed a few tears to fall. "Listen, man, this isn't fair. Carla was a really bad chick and…and she really hurt you guys…and… and I'm sorry for everything that's happened. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, "You...you just gotta get better, that's all there is to it. You're one of the best, Gage, and we need you back."

Chet dug the handkerchief out of his pocket and gingerly blew his sore nose. "C'mon, Johnny, show me a sign you're in there...please?" He sucked in a shaky breath and let it out again as he sat back in the chair and placed his hand on John's.


	13. Chapter 13

**A FATAL REUNION- CHAPTER 13**

It took Dixie a few more than "just a few minutes" before she was able to return to Johnny's room. When she finally stepped in again, Chet was asleep in the chair, his hand still lying lightly on top of Johnny's. The ice pack was balanced precariously on his injured cheek and the cold condensation dripped down his chin and into his collar. He snoozed on, unaware.

She smiled sadly and debated whether to wake him. Yes, allowing him in there in the first place so early in the day was _technically _against the rules, but he wasn't intruding or hurting anything, she reasoned, and Johnny could use the support. In the end, her compassion won out over the rules and she silently left the room, planning to return in an hour or so when the rest of the crew would surely show up.

E!E!E!E!E!

Shortly before eight in the morning, a man of about thirty years of age walked into the emergency area. His shoulders were hunched and a deep frown creased his mouth. He had short dark hair and walked slowly, looking around, yet not making eye contact with anyone. It looked as though he was searching for something and several people stopped, debating whether to approach him. Finally he found his way to the reception area and shuffled quietly to the nurse on duty there.

"Um, excuse me, please, I, uh, I need to speak with someone regarding, uh, regarding my sister," he said haltingly.

"Is your sister ill?" the nurse inquired. "Do you need help getting her inside?"

"Oh, uh, no...no, she, um...she...she died here this morning...I think."

"Oh, I'm very sorry sir; I'll see what I can find out for you. What was your sister's name?"

The man looked down at his shoes apprehensively before looking back at the nurse. Tears threatened to fall as he said, "Carla was her name... Carla Culver."

The nurse's jaw dropped a bit and she stifled a gasp before regaining her composure. "Oh, uh, y-yes sir. Please take a seat and I'll find someone to help you."

Ben Culver did as he was told and silently moved to the pleather chairs that waited like sentinels in two straight lines. Sighing deeply as he sat down, he bowed his head, knowing by the nurse's reaction that the news report he had watched this morning on television was exactly as he feared. The reporter had described his eye-witness account of the early morning activity at Rampart General Hospital and the sight of the woman falling from the scaffolding. The newsman had said the woman was a former model from New York, but they were withholding the name of the deceased pending notification of the next-of-kin.

Ben knew it had to be Carla and that there was no next-of-kin other than himself. Though he hoped desperately that he was wrong, deep in his gut he knew his sister had done something wrong...again.

Dr. Morton walked up to Ben Culver, introduced himself and expressed his condolences.

Ben shrugged and said, "Thank you, Dr. Morton. Normally, I don't worry when she doesn't come home for a day or two, but when I saw the news this morning...well, I guess you could say she'd been rather reckless in many aspects of her life ever since I've known her. It was bound to happen, I suppose."

He noticed Dr. Morton looking quizzically at him. "She's my step-sister actually," he clarified. "She was my mother's daughter from her first marriage. Carla's mother married my father and he adopted her- I was nine and she was four." He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, "I'm sorry, I guess I'm rambling. Um, do I need to identify her?"

"Quite alright, Mr. Culver," Dr. Morton said gently, "but I do want to prepare you; the woman who died here sustained an enormous amount of trauma; she may not resemble the image you hold in your head. That being said, I'd still like you to view the body long enough to be certain."

"I understand, doctor." Ben said as Morton led him down the hall.

When they finished, Dr. Morton led the distressed and shaking man from the room where Carla lay. Though it was true she looked little like the sister he remembered, the diamond watch which still encircled her left wrist told him it was her for certain.

"She bought that watch with her first big check for modeling," Ben said, wistfully. "She was so proud to be able to have such fancy things. I never said anything to her, but I always thought it was a silly waste of money."

Ben told Morton that he would be having his sister cremated, as there would likely be no visitors to a funeral. Their parents had both passed away in a car accident several years earlier and they had no other family. For most of her life, Carla had attracted commotion like a magnet and enjoyed making waves whenever she could, while Ben himself had tried to stay in the background as much as possible. Though they didn't see eye to eye on much of anything, she had been all he had left and it felt strange to be alone.

"Again, I'm very sorry about your sister, Mr. Culver. If you'll have a seat here, I'll have the papers for you to sign to have her body released to the crematorium," Morton told Ben. "I'll have her personal effects brought out to you in a little while."

"Thank you, Dr. Morton, I appreciate your help." Ben sighed again and returned to his seat to wait and think. Even though he had spent the past twenty years watching his sister make one mistake after another, he had still loved her. Now, she was gone, and nothing would bring her back again.

E!E!E!E!E!

By the time Station 51's shift had ended, Captain Stanley, Mike and Marco had made their way to Rampart. A thousand questions ran through their heads, but for now they sat silently in the waiting area to rest and worry as a crew. Mike alternately thumbed through a magazine and stared off into space as Marco fidgeted nervously with the rosary beads in his hands. He _wanted _to concentrate and pray, but his mind kept wandering to everything that had happened in the past two days. Cap paced the floor like an expectant father, following an imaginary path, trying to keep his own mind occupied.

Marco shifted in his seat and turned around, not being adequately distracted by the rosary beads. His looked at the man who kept his eyes to the floor and arms wrapped tightly around himself. Occasionally, Ben would reach up and wipe a stray tear from his face.

"_Wonder what happened with that guy?"_ Marco thought._ "He looks pretty upset."_

E!E!E!E!E!

Dixie's shift was over now, but she had freshened up and changed clothes there, not yet ready to leave her ill friends. She saw the other members of Station 51 sitting there in the waiting area and stopped in the hall for just a moment, watching the men who were so dear to her. Their distress was palpable and though she wanted to offer her support, she hesitated to intrude.

Finally, she stepped over and tapped Captain Stanley on the shoulder. Instinctively, he and all the others stood to acknowledge her presence and Ben Culver lifted his head to watch them.

"Captain? I thought you'd like to know, Roy's coming around. If you want to follow me, I'll take you to him. Oh, and if you're looking for Chet, I believe he's in Johnny's room. I'll send him down here in a minute."

"Chet's in with John? How is he? Is John doing any better?"

"Fellas, Chet's okay, a couple of stitches and an ice pack, and he'll be fine." She pursed her lips and sighed, "John's still unresponsive."

Immensely relieved that she hadn't come to deliver bad news, the three men silently trudged after Dixie toward Roy's room.

Dixie placed a hand on Mike's arm, "Guys, I'm going back to Johnny's room for a bit. He's in room 304 when you come up, okay?"

The others nodded and thanked her, then Cap stuck his head in and saw Roy napping and Jo sitting by his side. "Hi, Joanne. Is he up for a short visit?" he asked quietly.

"I think so, Hank. He's still a little groggy, but he's coming around more and more. Dr. Early is very encouraged by Roy's blood test results; he says the treatments are working well," Joanne added.

Cap walked in and waited for Roy to open his eyes. "Hey, Roy, feeling better?"

With his eyelids at half-mast, Roy first regarded Cap with a confused expression, and then as he realized who the man standing there was, said, "Cap? I…uh…I guess I'm okay now…or at least I'm gonna be. All these meds are makin' me pretty loopy." He swallowed again, and was clearly uncomfortable with the NG tube and the oxygen cannula. He looked over at Dr. Early again and slowly lifted a finger to point at the tubing. "Any idea...how long I have to...have these?"

"Well, Roy, I think we'll wait for one more round of blood tests to make sure the charcoal has absorbed all the toxin that it can, and then we'll get rid of that nasty thing for you," Joe said, indicating the NG tube. "The oxygen is helping you wake up a little more. You shouldn't need that much longer, either."

Roy nodded and closed his eyes again. Mike shifted nervously from foot to foot and gently elbowed Marco and mumbled, "Roy looks bad, man."

Marco nodded, "Yeah, I've never seen him like this before. Jeez."

E!E!E!E!E!

After waking Chet and shooing him down to Roy's room, Dixie stood by John's bed, deep in thought. So preoccupied was she that she jumped a little when Dr. Brackett walked in and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Can't stay away either, huh?"

She turned to face Brackett, "Kel? He looks awful. Tell me the truth- how is he doing?"

Brackett hesitated, "Dixie...I think he's dying."

"No..." she gasped, "isn't the milk thistle working?"

"He's on his second dose, but nothing has changed. There's nothing else we can do, Dix. Johnny's not responding to any stimulation, he's receiving dialysis and needs to be on a vent. His blood pressure only stabilizes with medication and plummets without it. The amount of toxin in his system is simply overwhelming it. Dr. Marquardt still feels that his infusion can help, but…if it doesn't, he said Johnny _will _succumb to the poison, most likely within 24 hours."

She fought the temptation to tell Brackett he was a fool, that he didn't know Johnny like _she_ did, that Johnny'd been in worse scenarios than this one...but in her heart, she knew the truth. He was hanging on by a thread of hope.

"The other guys are here now," she said with a trembling voice, "I'll, um, I'll go tell them...they're all in Roy's room."

E!E!E!E!E!

Chet had joined the others, feeling increasingly helpless as he stood among his friends. Dixie's words sliced through them, leaving the room cold and silent.

"I want...to see him," Roy finally whispered. "He's…my best friend. If this milk thistle stuff...doesn't work, I, I want to be there...to tell him goodbye."

"Oh, Roy…" Joanne tried to say something, anything, but words failed her.

"Roy, if you can wait just a few more minutes, we'll get that NG tube out and then we'll get you to Johnny's room," Dr. Early told him.

"No, do it now. I don't...want to wait any longer."

Dr. Early asked the others to step out of the room for a moment, then rolled Roy to his back. He slipped off the oxygen cannula and removed the NG tube in one smooth motion. Roy gagged a little, but did not vomit- something he was quite grateful for. Gently, Early and Joanne helped Roy into the waiting wheelchair.

Roy was still weak and dizzy, but he was determined to be there for Johnny. "Let's go," Roy said, looking up at the others. "You guys comin'?"

Mike stepped up behind him and placed his hands on the grips of the wheelchair and said nothing, but led the somber group to the elevator. Mike then wheeled Roy into Johnny's room and they were met by Dr. Brackett.

"Sorry, guys, only a couple at a time," he said, as he hovered over Johnny's bed.

Johnny had been given the second of as many infusions of Milk Thistle that Dr. Marquardt would order, and Kel was watching as the bag emptied.

Cap approached, "Roy, I'm going to go call Ellie, and be back in a minute."

Marco peered around Roy for another glance at John. "I, uh, I need some air. I'll be back too."

"I'll wait outside," Mike mumbled as he backed out.

"I'll sit with you, fellas," Dixie murmured.

Only Chet and Joanne remained. Dr. Brackett noted Roy's shaking hands and he bent down to Roy's eye level. "Roy? How are you feeling?"

"Kinda' weak…a little shaky, I guess. Stomach feels better, though." His eyes looked around Brackett, to where Johnny lay. "Doctor?"

"We're waiting to see, Roy. He's only had two infusions and Dr. Marquardt feels Johnny will need at least at least three or more..." He turned around at the sound of the door opening.

Dr. Marquardt returned to John's room, bearing another bag of the milk thistle IV.

"Ken? I want you to meet Roy DeSoto, our other mushroom poisoning patient. He's John Gage's paramedic partner. Roy, this is Dr. Kenneth Marquardt of St. Francis Hospital and Research Center. He's the one who developed the Milk Thistle remedy for use in the United States."

"Dr. Marquardt," Roy said as he offered a trembling hand to the doctor. "What's your prognosis? How long...until we see any change?"

The well-mannered doctor spoke with compassion. "Mr. DeSoto, milk thistle has shown remarkable results in neutralizing the toxins from the death cap mushroom, especially where the liver and kidneys are concerned. It will take some time, though. I won't lie, with this being his second incidence of poisoning in almost as many days, he's in extremely critical condition. He wasn't yet recovered from the first poisoning when he was poisoned again. The patients we've given this to in the past had not ingested an amount of toxin nearly this excessive. His status as of now is still quite unstable. I'm very sorry."

Roy then asked, "Can I talk to him?"

"Of course. Take all the time you need, I'm going to start his third dose right now." Dr. Marquardt moved to the head of Johnny's bed and began hanging the milk thistle on the IV pole.

Roy looked at his partner, so still and pale, splotched with black and purple bruises. Roy knew liver failure could bring on easy bruising and it scared him. He watched the ventilator pacing Johnny's breaths, heard the monitor beeping his heart rate, and saw the blood and platelets and electrolytes dripping into his body along with the milk thistle serum. Roy was, unfortunately, more aware than the average person of how critical Johnny's condition was. His partner was truly teetering on the edge of life and Roy's heart was in his throat as he took a shaky hand and placed it on Johnny's arm.

"Jun…uh, Junior," Roy said, his voice cracking, "it's me, pal, it's Roy. I'm here now, Johnny." He rested his forehead on the bars of the bed for just a moment to clear the cobwebs in his brain, then looked up at Johnny again. "Johnny, look, um...I _know_ you can hear me, and…I know you're feeling really awful now. But…you know I, uh…I need you to...try really hard to come back to us. You...gotta get better, 'cause...your ranch is waiting for you. Remember? That place you've wanted...all your life…it's waiting for you, man."

Roy paused, his eyes fixed on his partner's still form, and cleared his throat before continuing. He pulled himself closer to Johnny's face and in a ragged whisper he said, "I...want you to hear something, pal. The doctors here...they're doing _everything _they know how to do, but…this has _gotta _be up to you." He reached over with his left hand and placed it on Gage's chest, anxious for the feel of his partner's heartbeat under his palm.

Roy swallowed hard and went on, "Johnny, we want you back, but…um…I won't beg you to do it if, if you think this is too big…if it's too much…" his emotions were threatening to get the best of him and he wiped his eyes with his palm, "Johnny, I'll…I'll understand if you…if you need to go...to a better place."


	14. Chapter 14

**A FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Joanne stood silent for a moment, considering what she just witnessed. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before rolling Roy's wheelchair away from Johnny's bedside. She knelt to look face-to-face with her husband.

"Roy," she gently admonished, "Johnny i_s _very weak now, but he's _still _a fighter, and I believe he's trying as hard as he can. Please, Honey…_please _don't let him think you've given up on him."

Roy melted into her embrace and closed his eyes, "I know, Jo, I _know_. It's just... I _know _all of this machinery is necessary. But...Johnny would _hate_ this _so_ much! If he really wants this...he'll find a way to show me."

He was quiet for a moment, then suddenly, he took a shuddering breath, gasping for air between shouts, "It's not right, dammit...and I want answers! I want...to know _why_! Why would Carla...waltz back in...to Johnny's life and...and lead him on if...if she just wanted him dead? I'm angry as hell and I want...to know WHY!?" He thumped a fist on the armrest of his wheelchair, then bowed his head, ashamed of his outburst.

"Roy!" Dr. Brackett exclaimed, "Look!"

Johnny's fingers on his left hand were clenching and releasing slowly and his closed eyes pinched tighter for a moment, then relaxed again.

"Johnny?" Brackett asked, tentatively, "Can you hear me?"

There was no other movement, but it was easy to acknowledge that Johnny had indeed reacted to Roy's voice.

"As soon as this IV of milk thistle is finished, I'll take another blood sample," Dr. Marquardt announced. "I want to check his liver enzymes and prothrombin time. If the milk thistle is working, those numbers should be decreasing."

He turned to face Johnny's friends, "He's on his third dose now. I believe he'll need at least four before we can decide on his recovery status. Now, as you know, each IV will take some time to run through and be tested, so if you choose to stay, be prepared for it to be awhile."

Roy wanted to comment, but was simply exhausted. The toxins from the mushroom were gone, but the side effects would linger for a few weeks, he was told. He was still dizzy, his muscles were weak and he tired quickly. Giving Johnny permission to die was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and with it, his energy had all but evaporated. Still...he had felt it was necessary. He wasn't going to be fooled into a false sense of security, and there was no way he wanted Johnny to suffer needlessly.

"I think Roy needs some rest," Joanne told them softly as she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to bring him back to his room for some lunch and maybe a nap before we come back."

Roy lifted his head and said barely louder than a whisper, "No sleeping. I'm...gonna stay here…much as I can. Don't want him... alone...if he dies."

Brackett leaned in, "It'll be okay, Roy. You need to keep your strength up, too. I promise we'll let you know the second anything changes."

He knew he wasn't going to win this, so with a resigned sigh, Roy nodded and pointed toward the door. Joanne grasped the handles of the wheelchair and slowly guided him toward the exit. Roy turned his head to look back at his partner, once again motionless in the bed.

"Hang in there, Junior...I'll be back," he said so quietly no one could hear.

E!E!E!E!E!

Ben Culver felt utterly useless and anxious for direction. He stood looking around his kitchen, trying to think of something he could do to keep his mind off the fact that all that was left of his sister now sat in an urn on the counter. Forty-eight hours ago, he still had family. Now, here he stood, tapped-out and exhausted by everything that he learned in that time span.

Once he viewed and identified Carla's body, it was only a short time before it was sent to the crematorium. While Ben waited for someone to tell him what to do next, Dr. Morton and a police officer had both sat with him in the corner of the waiting area and told him everything Carla had done. When the officer told him quietly that Carla was a suspect in the attempted murder of John Gage and the nearly fatal poisoning of Roy DeSoto, he remembered feeling faint and Morton offering him a cup of water. The officer had held him by the elbow to prevent his falling to the floor.

Now that she was dead, Carla couldn't be jailed or tried, they said, so the hospital and the police department had both given Ben permission to claim her body. Minutes ago, Ben had returned from the crematorium with Carla's ashes and he couldn't shake the memory of when they had placed the box in his hands, it had still been warm. So shocked by the feel of it in his hands, he nearly dropped the box to the floor and fled. Then the mortician had smiled and asked him about "final resting places." Ben had only blinked at him for a few moments before realizing they wanted to know what he intended to "do" with Carla's ashes.

"We have a lovely display of urns and assorted containers in the showroom, Mr. Culver," the man told him, but Ben merely shrugged.

He wanted to run away and forget any of this had happened, but it seemed no one would allow it. He pointed wordlessly to the first one he saw and wrote out the check without even asking the price. The urn was plain bronze with no decorations or embellishments and it seemed to mock the flashy lifestyle Carla had lived, but Ben didn't care. Carla's remains were unceremoniously poured into the urn and handed over to him.

"Uh, do I take these with me?" he asked, "I uh, I guess I've never done this before, so..."

"Perfectly understandable, sir," the mortician said. "Yes, they are yours to do with as you please. If there are no more questions, I'll just box that up for you."

"_No more questions?" _Ben screamed inside, _"I have nothing but questions!" _ But instead, he just nodded and left the building.

Now he stood there, feeling lost, when suddenly, his doorbell and telephone rang simultaneously. He picked up the phone first and was greeted with, "Is this Ben Culver? Carla Culver's brother? I understand she's the fashion model who tried to murder those innocent firemen- what's your reaction to this? Did _you _know she was a murderer?"

Ben dropped the receiver to the floor in shock. A reporter? Those men were firemen? He quickly picked up the phone again and placed it back in the cradle without speaking. He heard voices from outside and peeked between the curtains, noticing a van parked outside with KBLA NEWS emblazoned on the side. A man in a suit and tie stood with a microphone on the front step, while another man waited on the sidewalk, a camera on his shoulder, poised and ready for when Ben might open the door. The man knocked repeatedly and rang the bell again.

"Mr. Culver! This is Jerry Treacher of KBLA News," he called out, "I'd like to speak with you about your sister."

There was no way he could give any kind of answer to anyone when he still had so many questions himself. He decided he could wait this out…couldn't he? When another hour passed and the reporters were still there, Ben was on the verge of panic. He desperately wanted to speak with Dr. Morton at Rampart, but the phone rang again and again, not giving him a chance to make the call.

His head turned from door to window to the ringing phone and he didn't know what to do. He finally decided to get down to the floor and keep all the lights off- perhaps they'd be convinced he wasn't there.

"_Oh, my god, I can't stay here," _he thought, wildly,_ "Carla tried to kill those firemen...those reporters, they...they know where I live now; they'll __never__ leave me alone! I-I don't know what to say to them...I didn't know Carla would try to kill anyone…I didn't know!"_

He could still hear the reporters banging on the front and back doors and now they were even knocking on the living room windows. The doorbell and the phone rang over and over. His head swam as he tried to think of a way to escape the madness his life had suddenly become. He crawled across the floor and into Carla's bedroom and glanced out of the window. As he did so, he saw another van pull up to the curb; this one marked, "Channel 12, Carson News".

"Not another one," Ben groaned. "Even if I _could_ I leave? Where would I go?" From his place on the floor, he looked wide-eyed around the room, trying desperately to calm himself but not having any luck with it. The fading evening light gleamed through the slightly parted drapes and he noticed the photos on the bedside stand, including one of him and Carla, taken last summer when he had visited her in New York. Another one was of the two of them as children, playing in the front yard of what once had been a lovely old home in the country. He stopped for a moment and held the photos tightly; staring at the beautiful face of the sister he had loved.

"Car…what happened to you? What did you _do_?" he whispered as he started to cry. "How could you have such a dark side? How could you have _done_ something like this? God, I wish you would have come to me for help before it was too late." He put the photographs down on the floor and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm really gonna miss you, you know…I hope you finally have peace."

He lay down on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest and sobbed with all his heart. His life was being ripped to pieces and it was more than he could bear.

E!E!E!E!E!

Cap returned from his phone call and was sitting there with Marco and Mike as Roy, Joanne and Chet meandered into the waiting area.

Heads previously bowed in deep thought popped up at the sight of them, hoping for good news. Roy was too exhausted to do anything more than nod as Joanne told them what had happened. There were others there in the waiting area as well, and several of them smiled- just a bit– when they overheard the news that Johnny had responded to Roy's voice.

"Well, I think I'll go home for a bit then," Mike said, his lips pursed in worry. "I'm gonna feed the cat and grab a nap, but I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you're staying, Jo, would you call me if, uh, anything changes?"

"Of course I will, Mike. Dr. Marquardt said each IV takes about three to four hours to run through, so if we want to leave for a bit, we can. We're going back to Roy's room so he can get something to eat and a little rest..."

Roy looked up at his wife, but before he could interrupt, she continued, "...but I know he won't want to stay away long. We'll go back as soon as we can."

"Well then, let's just give Johnny some time," Cap told them. "I'm going to go home for a shower and to talk with Ellie. I suggest the rest of you go home for bit too."

Marco said he needed groceries and then might go to his folks' house to tell them about Johnny. He knew his mother would want to say some prayers for Marco's friends and at this point, he too desired to pray. He loved the peace he derived from it and looked forward to being alone for a while.

Chet, Mike, Hank and Marco all agreed that leaving for a while would be best and Joanne promised each of them she'd keep them informed if "anything" happened. Marquardt exited John's room and watched as the friends re-grouped and planned for the remainder of the day. He had been genuinely touched at the words he heard Roy express, and clearly this group was deeply concerned for their friend and coworker. That support would certainly help Johnny once he began to recover.

Dr. Marquardt refused to say "if" he recovered.

E!E!E!E!E!

Staring unhappily at his lunch, Roy noted that everything on his plate was beige. He frowned and ate it anyway to avoid the fussing he knew he'd hear if he didn't. No longer suffering from the agonizing stomach cramps and nausea was a huge relief, but eating certainly still lacked the appeal it once held. With a fair amount of wheedling on Joanne's part, he consented to a short nap as well. Despite his vociferous protesting, Roy's body demanded rest and he was soon sleeping soundly.

By the time they were back in John's room nearly three hours later, none of the crew had returned yet. Johnny was almost finished with the most recent dose of milk thistle and Dr. Marquardt would be back soon to draw another blood sample.

Inside Johnny's dark world, it was quiet, but not silent, and _something _made him try to concentrate. _Someone _was there. He could sense the emotions emanating from the people speaking to him, sadness, yes, but… there was something else. He couldn't quite focus on the sounds that wouldn't stop.

In the meantime, Roy placed his hand on Johnny's bruised arm. "Hey Junior, it's me, again."

The warmth of Roy's hand and the sound of a friendly voice caused his mind to snap to more coherent thought. _"I know this person…I know...this voice…"_

"Johnny, I'm not leaving...until you give me a sign you're fighting...to come back. Joanne's here too, and we, uh, we really miss you, you know? Please…Johnny, it's really time...time wake up," Roy stammered.

"John...we're here for you...come back to us." Joanne gently repeated.

"_Roy! That's who...that is!" _Johnny remembered Roy and concentrated on his voice, desperate to push away the fog that held his brain hostage. _"Roy...I don't know...what happened...where..."_

When Johnny's fingers began to move, Roy placed his hand under them. Gage's fingers stopped, then Roy smiled when he noticed John's fingers barely grasping his.

"Johnny?" Roy asked, "you can you hear me...can't you?"

"_He IS here!" _John thought. _"I know it..." _His long fingers brushed lightly against Roy's hand once more.

"Something's happening!" Roy said as loudly as he could manage, "Get Dr. Brackett!"

Joanne stepped into the hall and called to the nurse at the desk, "Page Dr. Brackett, immediately!"

Dr. Marquardt was returning to Gage's room and overheard Joanne's order to page Brackett. He picked up speed and hustled into the room, striding over to the bed just in time to see Gage's fingers move again, then stop. Johnny's heart rate was up and his eyelids were twitching, as if he were trying to wake from a dream.

"Johnny," Dr. Marquardt requested, "Move your fingers if you can hear me...move your fingers, John."

Everyone held their breath and watched. A few seconds passed, then a few more…and then…there it was! His fingers had moved in response to a command! Roy smiled as he looked up to Joanne.

"He's...gonna to come back...I, I know it," he said with a watery smile. "Johnny, keep at it, man; we're here for you. Don't...give up."

Within seconds, Dr. Brackett burst in and saw Joanne and Roy both fighting back tears. His heart fell, thinking Johnny had succumbed to the poison, then just as quickly he noticed the movements Johnny was making and grinned.

"This looks like it's going to be a good day after all," he smiled.

The door to Johnny's room opened and Cap, bewildered by the commotion, saw Roy and Joanne wiping tears from their eyes and Dr. Brackett and Dr. Marquardt both grinning like fools.

Cap looked from one person to the next, searching for answers, "Roy? Um, I'm back. I can stay with Johnny for a while if you and Joanne want to take a break."

"Cap," Roy said with a smile, "I thank you...but, no thanks! He _can _hear us, Cap…he can hear us and...he moved his fingers!"

"Well, if that isn't just the best news I've heard in a long time!" Cap grinned and walked over to his paramedic's bedside. "John, pal, you hang in there, alright?" He gently placed his hand on Johnny's shoulder, mindful of the wires, lines and monitors. "We're gonna help you get through this, buddy…I promise."

His voice cracked a little as he said, "You're gonna be okay."


	15. Chapter 15

**Fatal Reunion- Chapter Fifteen.**

At the touch of his Captain's hand, Johnny became more aware of the amorphous sounds he swam in. He heard beeps and clicks and in the dark he wondered where they could be coming from. He tried to concentrate on the sounds, but it was so difficult. Remembering what happened to him was impossible- only fragments of thoughts and images danced into his brain, taunting him as he tried to hold on to them. Faces and voices whirled around in a nebulous haze, then disappeared as quickly as they came. He saw the likeness of Roy's face, but it would dissolve before he was able to decide who he was. Then it was memories of his parents and then friends from his apartment building. At one point, he saw flames and vehicles with flashers, then each picture would fade away before his brain could tell him who they were or what they meant.

He became anxious when one image in particular changed each time he saw it: Carla. At one point she smiled at him, yet he couldn't recall her name. Somehow, though, he knew she was someone to be wary of. When her image returned and stared at him, it sounded to him like she was growling. He remembered being frightened by her, remembered needing help and her refusal to give it, then everything went gray and thick again.

_Her face reappeared in front of him once again. "You've lost, John," she crowed happily, "you're a dead man!"_

_Johnny wondered, "I'm...dead?"_

_His unease turned to fright as her mouth contorted with a sneer, then cackled at his confusion as she vanished once more. He remembered this voice...this face..._

His heart rate upped as he tried with all his might to make sense of what he was hearing; what he was seeing. Everything swirled and alternated between bright and dark. Roy's face bubbled to the surface again and John knew him; he was sure of it...or he thought he was, and in that same blip of clarity, his recollection of Roy also disappeared, replaced once more by Carla's blurred features.

"_No...that's wrong..." he thought, "I'm not...I heard...someone else...help me..."_

Cap, Roy, Joanne and both doctors watched as Gage began to tremble and move his head ever so slightly from side to side. His fingers twitched and a sheen of sweat developed on his face.

"Pardon me, Captain Stanley, I'd like to check Johnny's blood pressure," Brackett said, worriedly.

"Certainly," Cap said, and moved away from the bed.

Dr. Brackett frowned at the sudden spike in Johnny's blood pressure, and then checked his pulse rate: it was racing. He quietly conferred with Marquardt who nodded in response. Roy noticed the change in Dr. Brackett's demeanor and was immediately alarmed.

"Doctor Brackett? What's happening? What's...wrong with him?"

"Roy, calm down. He could just be trying to wake up," Brackett told him,

Roy sat back stiffly in the chair and looked over to Joanne. "No, it's something else; he acts like..." Actually, Roy wasn't certain what it was he felt Johnny was feeling and was unable to finish the first thought before muttering, "Johnny, c'mon man..._fight t_his; you can do it..."

"Roy, returning to consciousness after an extended time can be very frightening," Dr. Marquardt told him, gently. "He likely won't know what's happening; let's be patient with him."

Cap frowned slightly and turned away as the door opened and Mike and Marco peeked in. "Is it okay for us to come in?" Marco asked. "We, uh, we can stay out here if you need us to."

Roy turned to his crew mates. "Guys...Johnny is becoming...agitated for some reason. I-I think he's...trying to wake up."

Roy had been upright and alert for far too long now and it was clearly wearing on him. He sunk lower in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. _"This...isn't right,"_he groaned inwardly._ "This...isn't fair."_

"That's a good thing...right?" Mike asked softly, his eyes wandering over to John. He could see Gage was shaking and saw the doctors whispering in conversation. Mike's brow furrowed in concern as he approached Johnny's side. He gently placed a hand on his friend's knee. "Johnny, it's Mike. You gotta hang on, okay? It'll be alright."

Johnny tried to hold on to that sound. "_I know...that voice, too…"_

Marco walked around Roy, bent low and quietly said, "Johnny, it's Marco. Mama and I said prayers for you today. You are strong and you can do this." Then he sighed, "It's time to wake up, amigo."

"_I know these voices...they are here...I am alive...I'm not...dead! Roy...where?" John concentrated on the warm, encouraging voices of his friends, and soon, both Carla's image as well as her voice faded away._

Cap smiled with pride as Mike, Roy and Marco each placed a hand on John, reassuring their friend that it was time to wake up. Dr. Brackett kept a close eye on Johnny's heart rate and BP and watched with relief as they both began to stabilize.

Roy gasped loudly when he looked down and saw Johnny trying to grasp his hand again. "Look! He's...doing it! Johnny! Can you...hear me?" Roy's eyes were wide with excitement, "Johnny? Can you...can you open your eyes? Open your eyes, Junior."

Johnny heard Roy's voice as well as the others' and tried with all his might to obey. It felt like he was slogging through a pool of oil, but he held on and with great difficulty, slowly opened his eyes. Blinking at the harsh light, he struggled to focus. There was something stuck in his throat and he felt pain, but it was like it wasn't part of him, more like happening around him. His eyes wandered from one face to another of those who hovered over him, and he heard laughter as his name was repeated, but being too weak to do any more, he closed his eyes, to the sounds of quiet cheering in the room.

Mike and Marco slapped hands; Joanne held Roy and sobbed with happiness and gratitude, and Dr. Brackett smiled broadly at Cap. Dr. Marquardt shook his head in thrilled disbelief.

Brackett pumped Marquardt's hand saying, "Ken, you are amazing; your infusion is nothing short of miraculous."

As everyone in the room was celebrating, Chet poked his head in the door. "Am I missin' the party? What happened?" he asked.

"He opened his eyes, Chet!" Joanne spluttered through her tears. "He held Roy's hand...he's going to be okay!"

Chet grinned widely, "Well, hot damn!" He went over to Johnny, "Gage, it looks like the phantom gets to keep his pigeon after all, eh?"

Joanne scolded with a smile, "Chet! Don't you start that already!"

"Aw, I'm just messin' with him, Joanne, he knows that, don'tcha' Gage," Chet replied, "You keep at it, man, we're gonna see that you come back to 51's...right where you belong."

E!E!E!E!E!

Another three hours with no response from Ben, and the reporters finally gave up trying to obtain a statement from the brother of the "Fashion Model Murderess." As dusk turned to darkness, they finally left his doorstep. Ben had cried until he was exhausted and slept for a while on the floor, still clutching the photos of him and Carla.

When he finally woke, he stretched out a cramped leg and his foot hit something under the bed. Groggily, he sat up and reached under to see what the object was. He pulled out an elegant leather suitcase and sighed. Just another of Carla's things that he'll have to find a place for, he thought. He was surprised at the heft of it when he lugged it to the top of her bed.

He snapped open the case and pulled away a layer of obviously expensive clothing. From the top of the stack of neatly folded items, he lifted an elegant berry-colored Oscar De La Renta blouse. Although he acknowledged it was a beautiful piece of clothing, the idea that anyone would pay so much for a brand name bewildered him.

"_Quality_, dear brother!" Carla had laughed. "It's not worth owning if it's not _top_ _quality_!"

The first time they bickered about how she threw her money at people for such extravagant things, Ben tried reminding her how they both had happily made do with hand-me-downs and less expensive things all throughout their childhoods.

"Exactly!" Carla had sniped back. "I have more money than I know what to do with now," she told him, "and _I _am going to enjoy it to the absolute fullest!"

After the top-of-the-line clothing came the lavish jewelry she always wore. Rings on nearly every finger, long, dangling earrings and sparkling pendants with gems so heavy and large, she needed thick gold and silver chains to keep them on. First she told him they were gifts from her boyfriend, but later admitted that she had a "teensy addiction" to diamonds and other gems. When everything began to go badly in New York and Ben invited her to come back to California, Carla told him she had sold her jewels in favor of having plenty of ready-cash in Carson.

"I can buy _more_, Benjamin," she sniffed. "Besides, I do so love shopping!"

As he lifted another blouse from the bundle, he gasped loudly at what he discovered underneath. Although there were several items of clothing in the suitcase, the rest of it was filled with stacks and stacks of money. There was more in that one case than Ben had ever seen- likely more than he had even _earned_ in his entire lifetime! Tucked between the bundles of currency, was a small deep-blue velvet bag. It too, was surprisingly hefty for such a small parcel. Ben pulled the drawstring apart and dumped the contents on the bed. Diamonds! Loose, mounted, in rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings...there must have been a hundred thousand dollars worth just in gems.

He felt the bile rising in his throat suddenly as the panic set in. His mind whirled with possibilities he hadn't considered until this moment. There might be a search of his apartment...the police would find this stuff...they'd claim it as evidence and then...then he'd surely be the target of yet another investigation! No! He couldn't handle it if the authorities came to him and demanded more information about his dead sister. He clenched his jaw and fists in anger and fear. The Carla Culver who tried to kill John Gage and Roy DeSoto was _not_ the Carla Culver he knew and he had no idea how to explain that to anyone. Ben made up his mind right then that there was no way he could endure this torment any longer.

Once he finally came to a conclusion on what to do with the contents of the large suitcase, it took only a matter of minutes to put his plan in action. He went over to the writing desk that sat in the corner of Carla's room and sat down on the woven bamboo seat. He opened several drawers searching for some stationery and pulled out the lone contents of the small center door- a folded piece of paper. On it were the first-names of men he'd never met, but the last three seemed very familiar. "David...John...and James." All the names there, with the exception of John and James, had a bright red line drawn through them.

After a few moments, Ben's face blanched as he came to realize the significance of the note and he began to feel ill again. He now knew in his heart that David _hadn't_ broken things off, Carla had probably murdered him. She had also tried to kill John Gage, but hadn't succeeded. Why wasn't Roy DeSoto's name on the paper...and _who_ was James? He supposed James was probably the lone man who had somehow incurred Carla's wrath, but who would never know how close he had come to meeting his fate. Ben began to feel shaky and nauseous and made a swift trip to the bathroom, where he fell to his knees and retched into the toilet. As he sat back against the tub, he whispered to himself, "Oh, god, I can't _do this_ anymore, I don't want to _know_ anymore, I...I need to end this...this whatever it is."

Ben pulled himself up and returned to Carla's bedroom. With a shaking hand, he now sat composing letters to John Gage and Roy DeSoto, working as quickly as he could. Once he finished them, he opened another drawer and found two large envelopes and turned back to face the suitcase that lay open on Carla's bed. In the letters, Ben told the truth, that he didn't know Carla had the dark side to her that she obviously did and that despite her actions, she was once a person he loved. He made no excuses for her, but admitted there must have been something in her past that he was not aware of that made her into the woman she became. He composed one additional small note and slid it into the velvet bag.

He was truthful to himself: he knew he couldn't face the public inquiry, humiliation or slander Carla's actions would surely bring. Resolutely, he took Carla's suitcase and divided up the contents, placing it in the envelopes along with the letters and sealed them. He closed the case and left it there on the bed. He wanted no part of what had been in it and left it for someone else to discover...someday. Tucking the letters under his arm, he picked up Carla's urn and and the small velvet bag of jewels. He gave one last look around his apartment and bade it farewell, knowing he would never return.

It was a few minutes after midnight when Ben slipped outside and cautiously tiptoed to his car which was parked at the curb. He never turned on the porch light, but instead found his way in the darkness, utilizing a small flashlight. The grass was dew covered and the bright beam revealed the ruts the news vans had made in the lawn when they parked there. There were snack wrappers and soda cans tossed about by the people who, eager for the first interview, had staked out his apartment. It frightened and disgusted him and only made him more determined to leave this place forever.

He placed Carla's urn on the floor of the passenger side and drove in silence and tears, on his way to Rampart General Hospital. He pulled into the parking lot and stayed there for a few minutes, resting his head on the steering wheel. He was exhausted and scared, but still determined to do this one last thing. His legs shook as he stood up, he took the envelopes for Johnny and Roy from the front seat and locked his doors. He paused at the construction scaffolding- the place his sister had died. Tears welled again and he chewed his upper lip to keep them from falling. He squatted down and passed a hand over the ground, pausing for a moment. Her blood had been washed away, he could tell- the gravel and dust lay in dried swirls on the pavement. He sighed, not a trace of her life or death remained. He hung his head and walked like a condemned man through the entrance of the hospital.

A nurse with a kind face greeted him at the desk. "May I help you with something?"

Ben took the parcels and placed them on the counter. "Um…I, I know it's really late, um, but could you get these packages to John Gage and Roy DeSoto, please? I believe they are patients here."

"Certainly, sir. Who may I say brought them here?"

"Uh, I'm just a, ah, friend of a friend, I guess. They, uh, they don't know me," he stammered. He tried to keep his composure, but truthfully he wanted to run away as fast as he could.

"All right then," the nurse told him, "I'll be sure to deliver them myself. Anything else I can do for you?"

"No…no thank you. I'll just go now. Th-Thank you."

And with that, Ben Culver returned to his car. He rubbed a finger over the soft velvet of the drawstring bag and sighed. "One more thing left to do," he muttered.

He drove seven miles through the heart of town and pulled up in front of the "Carson, California Homeless Shelter" and in the darkness he sneaked up to the drop box and pulled it open.

"At least you'll get to do one _good _thing with your money, Carla," Ben said as he slid the jewels down the chute and closed it. He trudged back to his car, started it up and drove away, saying a final goodbye to the life he thought he was living.


	16. Chapter 16

**FATAL REUNION- CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

The crew departed shortly after their celebration and Joanne returned Roy to his room for the evening. Alone in his room once more, Johnny made another effort to wake and comprehend the things he was becoming more aware of.

No daylight that he could tell, but things were still harshly bright and it irritated his eyes. People hustled in and out of the room and try as he might to speak, no sound would come from his mouth. He finally gave up and drifted off to sleep once more.

Not watching as Ben staggered to his car, the nurse at the front desk checked her patient room list and noted that John Gage was in ICU.

"Kay, I'm going up to ICU for a minute," she told the other nurse at the desk. "I'll be right back."

When she got there, the only available nurse was discussing a patient's chart with a doctor, so she went ahead and peeked in Johnny's room. _"Hmm, well he sure can't use this now; I think I'll hold on to it until the morning", _she thought._ "He's sleeping anyway; I can just lock up the envelopes back at the desk."_

She turned around and walked back to the ICU nurses' station. "Hi, Heidi," she said to the nurse who now stood alone. "How're things going?"

"Hi, Angela, not bad, kinda quiet," Heidi replied. "What are you doing up here?"

"Some guy dropped this off for Mr. Gage, but he's sleeping; I guess it is pretty late. Oh well, I get off at seven tomorrow morning; I'll just bring it back then."

"That's a good idea, he's pretty weak right now; he'll probably sleep until then, anyway. I get off at seven, too. Maybe I'll see you later."

"I thought he might. Have a good night, I'll see you in the morning!"

Angela went back to the desk, locked up the envelopes, and went in search of fresh coffee. Heidi picked up her patient charts and started on her rounds. There were only four patients in ICU this night, so she and one other nurse were the only ones there. She went in Johnny's room and checked his vitals, central lines, catheter and O2. His temp was up a little, and his breathing was still a bit labored. It wasn't a fantastic chart, but better than he'd been in days.

The night passed uneventfully and at seven in the morning, Heidi decided breakfast with friends sounded wonderful. She and two others walked down to Angela's desk and invited her to join them.

"You bet! I need coffee in the worst way!" Angela giggled. She picked up her sweater and left with her friends, completely forgetting about the envelopes for Johnny and Roy.

E!E!E!E!E!

The first stop on Dr. Marquardt's morning rounds was John Gage's room. The hopeful physician stood near and kept a watchful eye on Johnny's heart rate and blood pressure. The sedatives had been decreased even further and now he waited for Johnny to start responding to commands once more.

"Johnny? Can you open your eyes?" he asked. "Open your eyes, John." He waited and watched, and was soon rewarded with a groggy John Gage blinking and squinting at him. "John, it looks like you're trying to take some breaths on your own. We're going to try and remove your breathing tube. Would you like that? Blink once for "yes", twice for "no".

It took several seconds for Johnny to register what was being said. He swallowed and became aware of the tube down his throat. He disliked it, yet he felt scared. If this thing was making sure he breathed, what would happen when it was removed? He blinked twice.

"Are you frightened, John?"

A single blink.

Marquardt smiled and placed a hand on John's arm. "It's going to be okay. I think you can try to breathe on your own now. If it doesn't work, we won't remove it. We won't let anything happen to you," he promised. "Ready to try?"

Another single slow blink indicated a "yes" from Johnny.

"Good. I think we'll get started."

Johnny was becoming anxious at the thought of having the vent removed. He was still too disoriented to completely understand everything that was being done, but tried to trust the deep, calming voice of Dr. Marquardt. The doctor watched as Johnny tried to breathe more on his own and continued to reassure him as Respiratory tested his breathing ability. Johnny's fingers scratched frantically at the sheets and Marquardt noticed.

"John, it's okay, we'll slow it down. Don't worry."

It was deemed that Johnny wasn't maintaining his breaths as well as Marquardt would like and although the support could be turned down a bit, the breathing tube would not be removed just yet.

"Don't worry, John. It'll get easier and you're going to be fine. It sometimes takes a bit for a body to adjust after being dependent on a vent. We'll try again later," Dr. Marquardt reassured him with a smile.

Johnny blinked once for "yes" and closed his eyes, grateful that the experience was over for the time being. His thoughts seemed so scrambled and his fatigue was so intense he felt it would simply carry him away. Dr. Marquardt patted Johnny's shoulder gently and told him to get some rest and that he'd see him again later. Johnny easily drifted off, the swirls of thoughts and images enveloping him.

Throughout the morning, Johnny would wake from time to time and try to make sense of where he was and how he got there. Without being able to speak, he couldn't ask the nurses who watched over him. As he closed his eyes again, he thought he remembered hearing Roy's voice and somehow his brain recalled Joanne and Cap as well. When he slept, his memories came back in dreamy bits and pieces but it seemed each time he awoke, he had to start all over again.

E!E!E!E!E!

For breakfast, Roy had grudgingly eaten some bland oatmeal and a flaccid piece of toast. He was antsy for more information on his partner and wanted to speak with Dr. Marquardt or Dr. Early as soon as possible so he could go back to John's room. He was sorely disappointed when a nurse informed him he had an appointment with physical therapy instead.

It was true; his muscles remained weak and though he would have a bit of energy now and then, he tired quickly. It was disheartening. Now that he was feeling better, he figured everything would simply return to normal, but that theory was dumped on its ear after Joanne left the night before and Roy had attempted to visit the bathroom unassisted, tangling his arm in the bed rails and nearly landing on his face. The nurse hadn't been pleased with his attempt at going AWOL and threatened him with a catheter. It aggravated him to no end when he realized that recovery from the poisoning was going to take a lot longer than he thought.

Dr. Early had consulted Dr. Marquardt with Roy's case as well and the gray-haired physician now stood in Roy's room, discussing the situation with him.

"If all goes well and you show some improvement with the physical therapy, I expect you'll make a complete recovery in two to three weeks," Dr. Early informed him. Roy was appalled.

"That long? Brother…" he sighed.

"Yes, Roy," Joe told him grimly, "I'm not kidding when I tell you how immensely toxic those mushrooms are. You are very fortunate to have gotten treatment when you did. With the small amount that was in the tainted soup, you don't require the intensive treatment that John does, but you could have gotten profoundly worse in a very short amount of time had you not been brought here. Dr. Marquardt told me that Johnny is, quite honestly, lucky to be alive at all. Most humans who consume that measure of Death Cap generally die within 48 hours without immediate treatment."

Roy frowned, then looked up at Dr. Early, "Doctor, I apologize. I uh, I really am grateful. Without that milk thistle serum, I don't suppose Johnny'd had a snowball's chance in hell."

"Quite alright, Roy, I understand. Guys such as you and Johnny are used to having things happen quickly. Patience doesn't always come easy with us doctors either, I assure you."

At that point, the door swung open and the aide who was to take Roy to therapy arrived. Roy had quickly forgotten how weak his muscles had become, and automatically tried to stand up. His knees immediately buckled and had it not been for the swift reactions of the aide and Dr. Early, he would have fallen in a heap to the floor.

He looked up at Dr. Early with a sheepish smile, "Whoops..heh heh...uh, thanks." He leaned heavily on their shoulders and took small, shuffling steps to the waiting wheelchair. He looked and felt like an old man as just those few steps had already begun to tire him.

"You know...I really hate this," he mumbled.

"I know, Roy, but you'll get stronger every day, I promise," Dr. Early said with a smile.

He held the door open and the cherubic-faced young woman smiled shyly as she wheeled Roy out to the hall. He was surprised to see Chet walking toward the elevators. Knowing how Kelly liked to sleep on their days off, Roy thought it was odd to see him here so early. He motioned to the aide and placed a finger across his lips. She watched in amusement as Roy silently rolled his wheelchair up behind a preoccupied Chet and tapped him on the back of his leg.

"Yaaagh!" Chet howled, jumping at the sudden touch. He whirled around, ready to fend off his would-be attacker. When he noticed it was Roy, he let down his guard and snarled, "Roy! Whaddya' you think yer doing? Give a guy a heart attack…jeez."

"Whoa, Chet...you okay?" Roy laughed.

"Yeah…yeah…just thinkin' about stuff, I guess. Where are you goin'? Gage's room?"

"Well, I wanted to, but it seems my legs here decided they forgot how to work, so I'm headed to physical therapy instead," Roy told him. "I'll go see him as soon as I'm done there."

"Hey, Roy, you want me to take you to physical therapy? I can if you want," Chet offered.

Roy looked up at the aide. "Can he?"

"Sure, I suppose he can," she grinned. "It's on the second floor. Don't take too long getting there though, Alice and Will are waiting for you."

"Great!" Chet said and headed Roy's 'chariot' toward the elevator.

The doors swooshed shut and they were alone. Roy asked, "So, you want to tell me why you're here so bright and early?"

"Yeah, well… I couldn't sleep, I guess," Chet waffled.

"Mm-Hm, if you say so." Roy remained unconvinced.

"Okay, look, I'll be real honest with you, Roy. Gage has me shook up, okay? I just...well, I dunno, this is such a dumb thing. I mean, a mushroom? Who ever thought anyone could get so darned sick from a mushroom?"

Roy glanced down at his own limp and weakened legs and took in a breath. "Yeah, well, whoever thought a pretty girl like Carla could be such a man-hating sociopath? Johnny sure got caught unaware," he said quietly.

Chet nodded, grimly. Carla Culver was dead and gone and though her gruesome death should count as penance for her crimes, it still seemed unfair to Chet that she wouldn't have to endure the long-term repercussions like Roy and Johnny would. The night before, Chet sat alone on his sofa, so shaken by the horrible things Carla had done to his friends, that he flipped through his girlie magazines and wondered what horrible past each beautiful face kept hidden. He wasn't certain he could ever again trust another woman. Except for Joanne, of course. And Dixie...and Carol...and Misty, the girl he met at Hannigan's the other night...

E!E!E!E!E!

Driving away from Rampart the night before, a still distraught Ben had traveled with no exact destination in mind until he reached the desert of Carnuel, New Mexico. The late-morning sun exposed the vast mountains and the wind-hewn landscapes, and somehow he knew this was where he needed to stop. He drove slowly off the roadway and pulled into a stand of scrub trees and reached over for Carla's urn.

Looking around for anyone who might want to thwart his actions and finding no one, he sighed and closed the door. He wandered for a short distance, then stopped and waited, swallowing hard and gulping back his grief before opening the urn.

He smiled down at the contents and as he squinted into the sun, he spoke to the ashes, "I didn't know what to do, Carla...I didn't know where you...should be. But this place just seems right. It's bright and beautiful like you were...but...it's so empty and, I guess at times it can be both warm and bitterly cold. Somehow...I guess...well, I guess it's just like _you,_" he cried, as he scattered the ashes into the wind.

Seeing the gray particles fill the air, he began to sob. "Goodbye, Carla!" he choked out as he watched them blow away. Then he fell to his knees in anguish, "I'll miss you, little sister..."

Slowly, he returned to his feet and walked back to the car, gently placing the urn on the floor. The door clicked quietly and Ben turned away. Everything was completed now; there was no need to keep going.

Late that afternoon, two police officers from Carnuel, walked up to a car that was reported abandoned. Though it wasn't a well-traveled road, a woman who had driven past the car several times said she took this route to work and back, and noticed that the car had been there since the morning, hidden in a small thatch of trees. Afraid to check it out herself, she had called the police.

Carnuel was a small town and a call such as this was unusual- surely no one familiar with the area would just leave their car in the desert; it was far too risky when reptiles and the like enjoyed warm, dark places.

They peered inside and noticed a large container with the lid off, tilted on its side on the floor.

Officer Scheer opened the door and picked it up- it was Carla's urn...emptied.

As Scheer searched the glove box and under the seats, Ruiz popped the trunk and wasn't really surprised to find it empty as well. He tapped his fingers on the roof of the car and pointed at the urn. "That the only thing inside?"

"Yep, an' it's empty. Suppose anybody's missin' it?" Scheer told him.

"Guess we'll run the plates and see," Ruiz supposed.

"Yeah, probably so. Kinda' sad to find this urn empty; wonder where the ashes are," Scheer muttered.

"Beats me; better get goin'," Ruiz replied.

A hundred feet away, hidden securely behind a small craggy outcropping of rocks, the body of Ben Culver lay, two empty bottles in his pocket- one of sleeping pills and one of aspirin. He lay surrounded by his own vomit and excrement, and had blood-caked wounds on his face when he'd fallen in a drug-induced stupor. His lifeless body lay sunburned in the scorching daytime rays.

He had gulped down the pills when he first parked the car, knowing it would be a long, undignified death, but his soul demanded release from his pain and he obeyed.


	17. Chapter 17

**FATAL REUNION- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

A/N- Sorry so long between chapters. Since I am a real librarian, once school is out, I'm crazy-busy with Summer Reading programming. Hopefully, you'll find this one worth the wait. Thanks!

Chet was thinking deeply on other things as they strolled to Roy's therapy appointment and he pushed Roy right past the place they needed to be.

"Say, Chet," Roy began, and pointed at the door as it went by, "you, ah, forgot something. Chet? Chet!"

"Huh? Whatsa' matter?"

Roy grinned, "We went a little too far, friend. The room's back that way."

"Huh? Whoa, hang on." He wheeled Roy around and they were met by Alice and Will, the two people who would be helping Roy to literally get back on his feet.

E!E!E!E!E!

Later that morning, the nurse who was checking John's vitals noticed he was breathing easier. Everything seemed to be settling down and per his orders, she informed Dr. Marquardt.

"You're doing very well now, John," he smiled, "I bet you feel better now that you can breathe better too, eh? Once that toxin gets filtered out of your body, your muscles, including your lungs, are left weakened, but usually with no permanent damage. Once that Milk Thistle really does its thing, time and physical therapy should be all you need. Would you like to try getting rid of that breathing tube again?" he asked.

Johnny's thoughts seemed less scrambled now and he blinked once for "yes."

"Good, I'm glad. Now, I don't want to scare you, but the longer this thing stays in, the more of a risk you have of contracting pneumonia. Your temp's been up a little, so we surely want to get a head start on anything that might be brewing."

Johnny smiled as much as he could manage, not so much at the doctor's words, but at the realization that he understood them. The fog was lifting and he was grateful for it.

Dr. Marquardt grinned, "I think you'll be feeling better and better very soon. Your blood work is quite improved and your liver and kidneys are functioning at about seventy percent now. Let's knock out this little fever, and get that nasty breathing tube out now, hm?"

Johnny was given only enough sedative to make the process as comfortable as possible without knocking him out, and finally, the tube was gone. He was placed on humidified oxygen through a mask as a replacement, and seemed to adjust remarkably well. Johnny rested, still slightly warm to the touch, but looking and feeling decidedly more human.

Dr. Marquardt drew blood once more and decided if the results were as good as the last ones, Johnny could soon discontinue the blood and platelets as well.

Johnny followed him with his eyes and finally lifted a shaking hand to tap on his O2 mask. Marquardt looked at him. "Do you want to say something?"

Johnny nodded and Marquardt lifted the mask. "Just for a bit, John."

Gage swallowed and winced at his sore throat. "Thank you," he croaked, "for...saving...my life."

For years, Dr. Marquardt worked on this treatment and had done an immense amount of research and testing- another reason he took such a personal interest in John Gage's recovery. S_eeing_ it work and having the proof right here in front of him was incredibly fulfilling. He shook his head and smiled as he gently replaced the mask. "No, John, _you_ are a living miracle...and _I _thank you."

E!E!E!E!E!

Once they returned to Roy's room, Chet sat mutely in the chair next to the bed and stared at Roy's feet, willing them to work on their own. He frowned, thinking Roy probably didn't like hospitals any more than the next guy, but he didn't act like being here was such a big deal. On the other hand, hospitals and they way they smelled and sounded, made Chet antsy on a good day. Having two of his pals as patients was really beginning to wear on him.

When the nurse came in, Roy asked, "Miss? We want to go visit our friend in a bit. He's on the fourth floor; can I try walking there by myself?"

"Hmm, I don't think totally by yourself yet, but your friend there can help you with this if you want," she said, bringing a walker over to Roy.

He curled a lip in disgust at the sight of the aluminum frame. "Well, I feel like an old man; might as well look the part."

The nurse stifled a snicker and helped Roy to stand, then placed his hands on the grips. "Feel steady?" she asked.

Roy considered things for a moment, "Yeah...I think I do. What does Chet have to do?"

"Well, as long as you feel comfortable, you can walk as far as you want unless you start to get tired out. He's going to 'spot you' so to speak, like this..." The nurse showed Chet how to support Roy as he took steps, but still allow him to put weight on his legs and feet. Chet ambled over and laced his left arm around Roy's back.

Roy chuckled, "No tickling, Chester B."

"Har, har, DeSoto. I'll keep my hands to myself," Chet countered, "you're not my type."

Roy took a couple of tentative steps. Realizing he could stand without his knees buckling, he smiled and decided to keep going.

"Just keep your hands under his arms as a just-in-case, but let him see how much he can do on his own. Be ready to catch him if he falls, though," the nurse told them.

Roy wobbled a little, but Chet was not about to let him fall.

E!E!E!E!E!

Johnny was fully awake and being tended to by his nurse. Dr. Marquardt was returning to Johnny's room with the blood test results just as Roy and Chet got there.

"Good morning!" Dr. Marquardt greeted them warmly, "I believe I have good news for everyone."

Roy's eyes widened and Chet grinned at the sight that met them. The nurse had raised the head of Johnny's bed and he was sitting up, smiling from beneath his O2 mask. He gave them a muffled "Mornin', guys".

"Junior, you are a sight for sore eyes!" Roy laughed. "What a difference from the last time I saw you!"

"Good news, John," Marquardt interrupted. "Your blood tests came back free of any poison residue. The Milk Thistle worked and we can discontinue the infusions once this one has run its course," he announced, triumphantly.

"Alright!" John rasped out, and gave a weak 'thumbs-up'. In truth he felt beyond exhausted and his throat was still pretty sore, but knowing that some of the treatments could be discontinued brightened his day. Roy shuffled toward Johnny and smiled as he placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We're gonna beat this, Junior, you know that?"

John's voice sounded thin and scratchy, but his smile was sincere, "Yeah, pally...we are."

Roy's legs were beginning to tire out, so Chet scooted a chair over and helped him sit down.

Chet looked away for a second as if afraid to make eye contact.

"Kelly? You...okay?" Johnny asked.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. You guys..." he blew out another breath and ran a hand through his curls as he searched for the words he wanted. "Well, look, I gotta get going, but I just wanted to say, um...I, uh, I'm just really glad you're better...really glad." That wasn't _exactly_ what he wanted to say, but silently he hoped they'd understand.

Roy and Johnny made eye-contact and smiled. "Yeah, us too, Kelly...us too," Johnny said quietly with a small nod.

Just as Chet shook John's hand goodbye and was reaching for Roy's, there was a timid knock on the door and Arthur Dobson poked his head in. "Mr. Gage? Are you up for a visitor?"

"Mr. Dobson...come in." Johnny greeted.

The realtor slowly approached the bed, glancing sideways at the others in the room. "Mr. Gage, I, uh, I need to ask you a few questions. I know we haven't been able to discuss this, due to your, uh, unfortunate incident, but the, uh, the sellers of the ranch you want to buy agreed to extend the deadline for several days since you were hospitalized. However...that deadline is up tomorrow. If you are still interested, we'll have to get these papers signed and the down payment made." He paused and looked around as if he expected a riot to ensue. When that didn't happen, he continued, "I imagine this is a bit much for you to deal with right now, but, uh, I know how much you love that ranch and I'd surely hate to see you lose it."

Johnny's face clouded over. He'd forgotten about the ranch, and now, with him facing weeks and weeks of rehabilitation, there just didn't seem any way he could afford the down payment any longer. He turned away from the others. _"I loved that place. It was perfect and exactly what I've dreamed of for years. I was so close."_

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dobson. I…don't…know how I can afford it now." He lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes for a moment. "I guess...I'll have to say no."

E!E!E!E!E!

Heidi and Angela and the others were chatting enthusiastically about the previous night's events and enjoying a third cup of coffee with their leisurely breakfast, when Angela suddenly gasped, "Oh no! Those envelopes!"

Heidi asked, "What envelopes?"

"Remember? That one I was going to deliver last night to Mr. Gage? There was one for Mr. DeSoto too. I forgot about them; they're still locked up at the front desk! Oh man, I'm probably in so much trouble! I have to get back to Rampart right now!" she panicked. She tossed two dollars on the table, picked up her sweater and ran out to the curb to hail a cab. She sat fretting in the back seat and chewed nervously on a hangnail. "Oh god, as soon as Miss McCall hears about this, I'm dead."

The minute she returned to Rampart, she ran to the desk, grabbed the keys and growled as she frantically tried several of them until she found the one that unlocked the drawer. _"What if they were personal papers? What if Mr. Gage needed them first thing this morning and I didn't deliver them?"_ Her head was spinning with the myriad ways in which she'd be getting fired, when she snatched the envelopes and turned around- right into the face of Dixie McCall.

"Angela? What are you doing in here?" Dixie asked the obviously flustered nurse.

"Oh, Miss McCall", she rattled off at top speed, "I feel just awful about this. Some man dropped these envelopes off last night for Mr. DeSoto and Mr. Gage and I didn't give them to them last night because they were both sleeping and then this morning I went to breakfast with Heidi and I forgot to deliver them and now I came back to bring them here and I'm so _sorry_!" Angela began to weep; she was petrified that she had done something terribly wrong.

To Angela's utmost surprise, Dixie didn't chew her out. In fact, she handed the tearful nurse a tissue and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Angela, I'm sure it's okay. How about we go up to Mr. DeSoto's room together and see?"

Angela exhaled and tried to calm herself. Miss McCall was a stickler for detail that was for certain, but with the lack of a dressing-down, she felt better. Together they rode the elevator to the third floor in search of Roy. Not finding him in his room, Angela was on the verge of panic again, but Dixie nipped it in the bud. "He's probably up visiting Mr. Gage. Let's keep going."

E!E!E!E!E!

Chet sighed, "Man, Gage, I'm real sorry, ya' know?"

"I'm sorry too, Junior. I can imagine how much you wanted that place," Roy told him.

"Well, ah, Mr. Gage, if you're certain," Mr. Dobson said quietly, "I, I'll call the owners this afternoon. I'm very sorry...I can keep looking for something else for you, if you'd like."

Johnny shook his head. "No...I don't think so. This…" His breaths came short as he motioned toward himself, "this is...going to…take time to recover from. I…won't have much extra money…for a while."

"Very well then," Mr. Dobson said, "it has been my pleasure working with you, Mr. Gage. I would very much like the opportunity to help you again, should the occasion arise."

"Thank you…Mr. Dobson." Johnny choked out. He felt certain that as soon as Arthur left, everything he had saved and wished and hoped for would leave with him.

As he was leaving, Mr. Dobson nearly bumped into Dixie and Angela on their way in. Dixie smiled and moved to the side to let Mr. Dobson pass. She smiled at Chet, but Chet only grimaced in return.

Roy looked up at Dixie as she entered Johnny's room. "Hey, Dix," he said, morosely.

She peeked over to John. "Johnny! My, you're looking _much_ better. Uh, can I ask why everyone is so glum?"

Roy explained everything while Johnny lay back and closed his eyes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Johnny, that's gotta be tough," Dixie sympathized. She took his hands in hers, "I bet you can find something else just as nice as soon as you're better." Johnny looked into her eyes and in her heart, she knew he didn't believe her. "Hey, listen fellas, I _am_ glad we found you together," she said softly, "Angela here has something to tell both of you."

Angela timidly walked toward Roy and Johnny. "I'm so sorry I didn't give you these this morning when I got off work. I really meant to, but...I forgot...and I left. I just came back a few minutes ago, and Mr. DeSoto, you weren't in your room and then Miss McCall said we might find you here and…"

Dixie held up her palm to stop Angela's rambling. "Angela, just tell them where you got the envelopes."

"Oh, oh, of course, I'm sorry. Um, a man dropped these off at the front desk late last night for you. I asked his name, but he said he was a friend of a friend and that you wouldn't know him. I brought them to your rooms last night, but you were both asleep, so I was going to wait until this morning. I'm so sorry I forgot."

"It's alright," Roy told her. "I don't know anything about this, so I guess it can't be all that important, right?"

Angela offered up the envelopes and sighed deeply. "Thanks so much for not being angry; I was really worried."

"Nah, it's fine," Roy answered. "Have a good day."

Angela smiled again and shyly backed out of the door.

"You first," Roy told Johnny.

Johnny's shaking hands weren't strong enough to open his envelope, so he held it out to Dixie. "Help me out...Dix?"

Dixie slid a nail along the top of envelope, effectively slicing it open, and pulled out the letter first.

"Shall I read it to you, Johnny?" she asked. He nodded and she held it up to read out loud.

"_Dear Mr. Gage, _

_I know you don't know me, but my name is Ben Culver. I am the brother and only relative of Carla Culver."_

With that first sentence, Johnny sucked in a breath. "Jeez...go on..." he mumbled.

"_I must first apologize deeply for my sister's actions. I offer no excuses for why she would have done this terrible thing to you, and please believe me when I say I am devastated. _

_She came into my life when I was nine and she was four, and although Carla was always somewhat troubled, never did I think she was capable of taking a life. _

_The contents of this envelope is part of what I discovered in a suitcase under Carla's bed after her passing. I have my own suspicions as far as where it originated, but I care not to discover if it is in fact, the truth. I have divided it up between you and Mr. DeSoto, to do with as you wish. I know that nothing can undo what Carla has done, but please, accept this as my way of apologizing. _

_I am not emotionally able to withstand any further inquisition, so I have decided to leave California. I truly wish you well, and although you have no reason to forgive Carla, I hope you can find it in your heart to pray for her soul._

_Regards,_

_Ben Culver."_

"Wow," breathed Dixie when she had finished, "Do you want me to open this other thing inside the envelope, Johnny?"

He nodded without opening his eyes. "Yeah...please, Dix."

Dixie pulled out a large, rectangular shape, wrapped in aluminum foil. She laid it on Johnny's bed and slowly peeled it open. Everyone gasped simultaneously when they saw the contents strewn across Johnny's blankets. The foil package had contained money and lots of it.

"Oh my word, Johnny," Dixie said shakily when she finally finished counting. "There's a hundred thousand dollars here!"

"Holy shit, Gage!" Chet shouted.

"Dix!" Johnny began to breathe quickly, unbelieving what he saw. From under his mask he gulped, "Please go get...Mr. Dobson...back here!"

Dixie ran down the hall, frantically pushed the down button on the elevator and wrung her hands impatiently as she waited for it to deliver her to the first floor. Not finding Mr. Dobson in the lobby, she charged through the doors and into the parking lot. Scanning the cars, she finally spotted him as he was opening his car door..

"Mr. Dobson!" Dixie shouted. "Mr. Dobson, wait!"


	18. Chapter 18

**FATAL REUNION – CHAPTER EIGHTEEN **

The bed rail made a dull, tinny sound when John tapped it and Roy looked up.

"Roy…open yours," John said, aiming a quivering finger toward his friend.

Roy stared at the packet, close-mouthed, uncertain if he had the wherewithal to open it. He rubbed a hand down his face and exhaled loudly. The thick envelope balanced on his thighs and with shaking hands, Roy picked at the tape until he could peel open the crinkled flap. His jaw dropped as he slid out a similar letter from Ben along with a stack of currency rubber-banded together- a hundred thousand dollars! Roy hung his head and chuckled softly. Joanne was _not_ going to believe this!

"Mr. Gage, Mr. DeSoto, it seems you have some important things to do and discuss!" Dr. Marquardt laughed loudly. "This is quite astonishing, I must say; I'll wait and come by later to see you again."

He patted Johnny on the shoulder and left the room. Unable to speak just yet, a rarity in itself, Chet, Roy and John looked from the cash to each other, all with astonished grins pasted on their faces.

"I don't believe this!" Chet finally blurted. "This is...it's...I mean, I don't even know _what_ this is!"

"Well..." Roy said, looking with raised eyebrows at John, "what do we do now?"

"I guess," John wheezed out, "_I _wait...and hope Dixie caught Mr. Dobson." Then a smile erupted behind the oxygen mask. "I have...a house to buy."

"Well, listen fellas, I think I'm gonna go," Chet announced, slapping his palms on his thighs. "I can't wait to tell the guys about this!"

John was getting tired, but still managed a soft goodbye, while Roy, still without words, simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the parcel in his lap.

E!E!E!

Dixie's heel slid on a discarded cigarette butt on the pavement as she skidded up to the car. She lurched forward and braced herself from falling, grabbing on to the trunk of Dobson's mud-colored Ford Galaxie.

"Mr. Dobson!" she gasped. "Mr. Dobson, wait!"

Startled, Arthur turned around. "Yes?"

Dixie tucked a few wild strands of her blond hair behind her left ear. "Mr. Gage needs you to come back right away," she breathed, "I, uh, I'm pretty sure he's changed his mind!"

She took his arm and led the flabbergasted man back to the room, explaining on the way what had happened. When they returned, she gently nudged him toward Johnny's bed.

Mr. Dobson straightened his spectacles and approached, breathing heavily and mopping his sweating brow. "You wanted me, Mr. Gage?"

Johnny smiled tiredly and nodded toward the pile of cash that still lay across his legs. "I…want…to buy…that ranch!"

Roy sat in the chair, still grinning with astonishment at the money that seemed to tease him. He wasn't imagining this, was he? How can people even _have_ this much money to give away?

"Di-Dix..." then, clearing his throat, he tried again. "Dixie? Can you help me back to my room? I...I think I need to call my wife!"

E!E!E!

Mr. Dobson couldn't stop smiling as he assisted Johnny with the paperwork, even going so far as to hold on to John's unsteady hand, guiding it across the pages. Arthur happily tucked the money in the inside pocket of his suit coat and buttoned it closed, patting the top of it with a satisfied smile.

"Mr. Gage, congratulations!" the delighted Realtor declared, and with a flourish, returned the pen to his briefcase. "I'll be on my way to the bank immediately."

Arrangements would be made for Joanne to fetch a deposit slip from John's apartment and meet Arthur at the bank. Once the money was deposited, John would call to have a cashier's check made out for the down payment on the house.

Now and then, Johnny would raise an eyebrow and look at Mr. Dobson quizzically. Yep. Each time he closed his eyes and opened them again, Arthur was still there. It really was happening.

Once everyone else had gone and he was alone, a depleted John Gage wilted into the pillows. He swallowed gingerly, hoping it wouldn't hurt so much this time, but winced hard and made a face, realizing that swallowing slowly merely prolonged the burning. Damned vent tube! It took very little to wear him out, but with so many things for him to think about, he hoped sleep wouldn't overtake him just yet.

Johnny eyeballed the two sheet-covered hills at the end of the bed, and tried to move his feet. Was he really as weak as he felt? Just a few slow back and forth flicks made the muscles in his calves begin to ache. He raised his right arm a few inches and examined the substantial bruising that made his skin look more like someone's child had attacked him with a palette of water colors. He attempted to flex his wrists and fingers and discovered that even those small movements made the joints throb.

"_Are you kidding me?"_ he thought, indignantly, _"this is ridiculous!"_

He eased his head back down and closed his eyes._ How _long had he been here again? Everything he could recall from the past few days along with what he had been told, went round and round on an endless replay loop.

Carla had tried to kill him. _His_ Carla...the same one who was bright, funny and as sexy as any woman could be...and what scared him most was that she almost succeeded. He _knew_ something wasn't quite the same about her when she first came over; something that niggled at his brain and made him want to talk it over with Roy. She used to be so carefree and fun, but she came back from New York so pretentious. She _looked_ like Carla, yet it wasn't her...not really. It was as if someone had sent back a forgery of her and kept the original. He had_ almost_ made up his mind to tell her he didn't think being together was such a good idea when all hell broke loose. Now she was dead and no one would ever be able to tell him why she had done it.

And another thing- what about all that money from her brother? Where did_ that _come from? He'd never in his life _not_ had to watch his pennies. Sometimes, after he got all of his bills and rent paid, there wasn't more than a few dollars left in his account. The guys all ragged on him about being so cheap and he took it in stride, but they didn't know how tight things had really been. Now he'd have his own property and be comfortably well off - something that for years had been nothing more than a pipe dream.

He sighed, _"Ben...thank you. You did good, man, you did good. Be safe." _

The muffled sounds of the hustle and bustle from the hallway gently lulled John to sleep.

_In his dreams, Johnny wandered alone along a stretch of an unfamiliar beach. It was near the end of the day and he sat down on the dunes, curling his legs under him and turning his face toward the sun, basking in the warmth of the last of its beams. He wiggled his toes in the cool sand and sighed, smiling at the feeling of contentment washing over him. The surf swooshed onto the sand then raced back, the small waves competing to be the first to return. He breathed in the salt-tanged air and..._

"_Johnny?" he heard a voice whisper. Languidly, he turned toward it. Carla!_

_The sand scattered around him as he clambered away from her. "C-Carla?" he choked out, "Wh...I mean, how...uh..." _

_Carla knew she had startled him and briefly looked away as if she were ashamed. "Johnny, aren't you glad to see me, darling?"_

"_Uh, y-yeah...um, I mean..." His breaths came quicker and he looked around in a panic, hoping to find a way to escape. _

_Carla toed the sand then returned her gaze. "Aren't you happy? I came back to find you, darling!" _

_The Carla who stood before him possessed the voice, the eyes and the figure of the Carla Johnny knew, but now she reached out her hands to him and her fingers, gnarled and clawed, clutched his in an unyielding grasp. He looked down and attempted to free himself from her hold. _

"_H-Hey...Carla..." he stammered as he pulled, trying to wrench his hands free of hers._

"_Johnny," she purred, "Men don't let me go...not ever. I let __**them**__ go!"_

_Gage scrambled backwards even further and stopped when he bumped up against a rock, hidden in the shadow of the pier. He braced himself against it, using it as leverage to extricate himself. _

"_Unh...Carla...stop!"_

_He pulled as hard as he could, but her claws sunk deeply into his wrists, keeping him captive. He stared in fright as blood began seeping from the wounds she inflicted. _

"_Carla...let go! I didn't...no!" he grunted, still trying to wrest his way free. _

_Now the blood streamed in scarlet rivulets down his arms and dripped onto the sand, creating deep brown puddles near his feet. Carla merely smiled and moved in closer to John's face. She maneuvered her body next to his and nuzzled her cheek against his lips. _

"_Mmm, Johnny, don't fret, darling, you're a part of me now." _

_She forced him back and lay against him, her slender legs wrapping themselves around his like a wild vine. It seemed the more he struggled to get away, the tighter her hold became. _

_Johnny used his cheek to push Carla away, but she was undeterred. _

"_No...I-I don't...why...are you doing this...I don't...unh!" _

_Her body seemed to meld to his. He suddenly felt himself sinking into the sand and the tiny grains filled his ears and swallowed his body. _

_Carla kept her face against his and giggled girlishly, "I'm part of you, Johnny- always!"_

_Slowly, they sunk deeper. The darkness was closing in as the sun disappeared from his sight. Johnny couldn't move, couldn't breathe as the sand filled his ears, his mouth, his nose...air wouldn't come to him...he was suffocating..._

"Johnny? Johnny, wake up!"

John's eyes flew open and he coughed and gasped for air. "Easy, Johnny," Dr. Brackett soothed, "Take a breath, easy now...are you okay?"

Johnny wheezed and gasped, still unsure if he _could_ take in a breath. Frightened eyes closed for a bit, then opened again, coming to rest on Brackett's concerned face looking down at him. Kel reached over and upped the flow on the O2. One hand lay on John's stomach counting respirations, while the other measured Johnny's racing pulse.

"Easy, relax...take another breath..."

"Unh..." John gasped, "I...uh, I had...she's not...she's not here?"

"No one's here but me, John," Kel told him, concerned about the racing pulse and gasping breaths.

"She…was gonna kill me...Carla tried...we..." Then his eyes darted around the room, wanting to be sure Carla wasn't really there. "I don't feel good, Doc...she wouldn't...lemme go...I jus'…I wanna go home," he whispered, plaintively. He gulped in the cool oxygen and closed his eyes.

"It's okay, Johnny, it was just a dream. Carla's dead; she can't hurt you anymore."

Brown eyes opened again as John regained control of his breaths. "That was...a hell of a...dream," he groaned. Brackett shushed him and continued checking John over, finally satisfied that Gage was not too adversely affected by the nightmare.

Johnny sucked in another gulp of cool oxygen and looked up. "Hey...did you hear, Doc? I have...a home...of my own now."

Dr. Brackett smiled back at him. "Yes, Johnny, I heard about your good fortune. I'd say you were long past due for something good to happen, hm?" He straightened the blankets and adjusted Johnny's IV. "Dr. Marquardt told me he's ended the milk thistle infusions, too," he muttered as he checked over the equipment. "Once we get this central line out and get some real food in you, you'll be one step closer to going home."

When Johnny didn't respond, Kel looked him in the eye. Gage was faraway, lost in thought. "Are you still thinking about your dream, John?" he asked.

Gage frowned and his adam's apple bobbed, "Hm? Oh...y-yeah...I guess. Doc? I _knew_...there was something..._different_ about...her, I _did_. But...I-I never thought...I mean, she didn't..." He scowled with disgust when the words just wouldn't come.

Brackett pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and sat down. "Look...Johnny, Carla Culver was a very troubled woman who, I believe, was exceptional at hiding her illness. I don't know if we'll ever know why she did those awful things," he explained.

Johnny could only nod. It finally hit home that the Carla who came back to him was nothing at all like he thought she was. That she had tried to murder him _and_ his best friend, well, it didn't make any sense and it never would. There _was no_ logic; _no_ explanation for her madness that he could reason away. A multitude of questions swam in his brain. Would Carla have been different if she had gotten help or, once someone finally realized she was troubled, would it have already been too late? Was she always such a haunted soul and just incredibly adept at hiding it? When did Ben realize Carla was to blame? Was it generosity or guilt that led Ben to leave the fortune to the two paramedics? So many questions and not one single satisfactory answer.

The chair groaned when Brackett stood up and pushed it aside. "Johnny, you know this will take a while, but you're going to be okay. Try to concentrate on that, instead."

Johnny sighed out, "Yeah...I will. Thanks, Doc."

Brackett looked back at the forlorn paramedic, then turned to leave. "I'll be by later, John. Get some rest."

Johnny closed his eyes and wished for something to distract him from his thoughts. "Carla," he mumbled, "I don't think...I'll ever understand."


End file.
